From Highlands to Homecoming
by storywriter17
Summary: This is a back story for Murdoch Lancer from when he left Scotland until just after Scott and Johnny came home to Lancer. It covers all the canon events of Murdoch's life and fills in a few gaps along the way. Find out how he met and married Catherine and Maria, how he lost them and his sons, and how he got his sons back.
1. From H to H Chap 1 Farewell

From Highlands to Homecoming by Margaret P

_(My thanks to betas, Terri Derr and Anna Orr, for their patience and invaluable advice.)_

Chapter One: Farewell

"Here laddie, take this." Unfastening the gold fob watch the old clockmaker pressed the apprentice piece he had worn for over fifty years into his grandson's hands. "It's auld but it still keeps good time. It would please me to think you carried something of me in a strange land."

Looking down, the young man accepted the treasured timepiece. "Aw Granda, are you sure? Thank you. I will think of you whenever I use it."

The two men hugged awkwardly. Ancient hands, aged-spotted and wrinkled, then pushed his grandson towards the door. Murdoch MacKinnon, 'Maker of Fine Clocks and Watches,' would not see his namesake again. "Away with you. I've work to be doing."

The shop bell jangled as the young man stepped out onto the grey cobbled street slick from the drizzle that had blanketed the town most of the morning. Funny, as much as he longed to leave, he would miss Inverness with its dour stone buildings and narrow rows of houses, its damp mists, green-black hillsides and dark mysterious waters. And oh, how he would miss that wizened, old man, who had been father and grandfather combined since his Da had fallen to his death all those years ago.

Rubbing the smooth gold between his fingers he looked up to the parting clouds, blinking rapidly, before putting the watch safely away in the top pocket of his jacket. His eyes then searched the far end of the street to find his mother and sister waiting with his trunk outside the coach house. Where was Jock?

"Behind you." Come straight from the byre, having helped birth a new calf, Jock Lancer was still rolling down his sleeves as he strode towards his younger brother. "A bull. An easy delivery, thank God. I thought when she started, it would make me late."

Jock threw his arm around his brother's shoulders and they continued on together. "One down, two to go. Sure you won't change your mind and keep working for the laird? You know he'll have you back. Best cattle man for miles, he says—next to me of course. We share our father's knack with them bonnie beasts, laddie."

"No Jock, you know that wouldn't work. The laird is changing to sheep like the rest, and besides I've got the hunger for adventure. It's America for me now I've saved enough. It's different for you."

Coming to a halt, the younger man turned towards the brother he admired so much. At fourteen, Jock had taken on the roles of man of the house and bonnet laird with stolid determination, refusing his help beyond a few chores and insisting that he stay at school. Their Da would have wanted it that way. Supported partly by their grandfather's generosity, Jock had barely kept the farm going that first year, but thereafter he had found his stride. He was soon teaching grown men a thing or two about raising cattle and managing a farm. As a result Glenbeath was one of the few Highland farms still able to make ends meet while continuing largely with cattle.

In his second year of farming Jock had employed another labourer to help with the heavier work. At the time his holding was not large, and he would have had to let this man go if Murdoch had come to work there. Neither he nor Murdoch wanted that, and besides Jock had better things in mind for his brother. When he had finally allowed Murdoch to abandon his books, it had been to take up a position with the local laird as assistant to the factor. Murdoch had a natural affinity with animals of any sort and coupled with the best education Jock and his grandfather could afford, the laird took little persuasion to employ him. Already knowledgeable about cattle, Murdoch would work as a stockman when needed, but would learn all aspects of estate management and eventually become an estate manager himself.

Naturally Murdoch had contributed regularly to his family's income, but from an early age he had a dream, and he had saved most of his earnings to finance it. "I dinnae begrudge you the farm, Jock. It's yours by right, but I want land of my own, freedom and space. Scotland can't offer that."

"Aye, with the clearances, folk are leaving in their droves, but there is always a place for skilled and educated men. The laird has been hard pushed to find a replacement for you as factor. He has asked Robertson to come out of retirement while he advertises further afield."

"I didna know that, but it makes no difference."

"No? Well, you can't blame me for trying one last time." Jock laughed with resignation. "Come on. Now you must pay the price for your stubbornness and bid farewell to our mother and Maggie. The coach will be for Greenock soon."

Taking his leave of their womenfolk was tearful. Murdoch knew it would be, but there was no help for it.

Maggie tried to hide her feelings behind pragmatisms but her blue eyes watered all the same. "You'll write at least once a month, and mind you eat properly."

"Yes Maggie, I promise." He smiled and nodded towards her rounded midriff. "And you look after yourself and the bairn."

"Rob is sorry he couldn't be here to see you off, but auld man Macpherson wouldn't hear of him taking the time. I'm sure he's the reason the Sassenachs say we Scots are tight-fisted."

"No matter, Maggie. We said all there was to say last night."

"Remember you have kin in America, but they likely spell the name differently," his mother reminded him. "You should try to find them."

"America is a big place, Ma, but I will let you know if our paths cross."

Murdoch knew he was just humouring his mother. The chances of him meeting his American kin were very slim after so many years with no contact and no knowledge of where they had settled. If it helped her to believe that he would have family nearby to support him there however, he would not dampen her hope entirely, and he would look out for the name or any similar spelling.

"You'll always be my bairn," wept Ellen Lancer forcing her youngest to stoop to hug her for the umpteenth time. Ellen was dwarfed by her sons. In terms of height, they favoured their father, as she did hers, but courage and determination came from both parents. "You'll be a success, son. I ken that. Oh but it's hard to have you go so far away. You stay safe. You hear me?"

Gently her son prised her arms away from his neck and kissed her tear-washed cheek as the coachman gave the final call. Turning to his brother he offered his hand. Like two towering pines, the brothers stood facing each other, drinking in the other's image; each etching a picture in his mind that must likely last a lifetime.

"Take care of them, Jock—and yourself."

"Good luck, brother."

Firmly shaking hands and embracing one last time, the men parted. The younger hauled himself up into the carriage. The coachman cracked his whip and four strong horses headed south, hooves clattering over the cobbles. Holding back the leather curtain Murdoch leaned out waving until all sight of his loved ones was lost, then settled back in his seat and looked to the future.

Two days later after an uneventful journey he arrived in Greenock as dusk enveloped the port. He took a room at an inn near the dockyard, so he would not have far to walk the next morning. Boarding was to be early. Ordering a good breakfast in advance, he made his way upstairs long before the singing and laughter ceased and the other patrons meandered homeward. As he drifted off to sleep on a lumpy straw mattress, images of rolling hills, wide valleys and free ranging cattle filled his mind. What would it be like to live in such a place, to own such land? If it pleased God, he would soon find out.

The distant Highlands were haloed by a rising sun as the _Duchess of Argyle_ slipped her moorings the next morning. The breeze caught the mainsail and the emigrant ship glided towards open seas. Standing on the main deck, elbow to elbow with others making the voyage, dreams of the New World and adventure were temporarily laid aside. Picturing each loved face, one by one, Murdoch bid a silent final farewell to his family and homeland.

Notes:

Scottish naming patterns as they affect this story:

First son is named for the Father's Father.  
Second son is named for the Mother's Father.  
First daughter is named for the Mother's Mother.

If a child dies in infancy, his or her name is often given to a subsequent child - a natural consequence of the high birth rate and infant mortality rates of past times.

A 'bonnet laird' is a small landowner: Wikipedia says "Historically, the term **bonnet laird** was applied to rural, petty landowners, as they wore a bonnet like the non-landowning classes. Bonnet lairds filled a position in society below lairds and above husbandsmen (farmers), similar to the yeomen of England."

I made up the name for the Lancer farm in Scotland. 'Glenbeath', I believe, means valley of birches.


	2. From H to H Chap2 All At Sea

From Highlands to Homecoming by Margaret P

_(My thanks to betas, Terri Derr and Anna Orr, for their patience and invaluable advice.)_

Chapter Two: All at Sea Words: 1964

For the fourth time in as many minutes Murdoch heaved. Gulls circling overhead dived with great expectations but came up short as they realised that source of nourishment had dried up. There was nothing left of the good breakfast of porridge and milk followed by eggs and bacon that he had treated himself to at the tavern before boarding the _Duchess of Argyle_. He had felt fine as the vessel eased itself away from the wharf. Caught up in thoughts of family and home, he had barely noticed the swell increasing. When the ship reached the Tail of the Bank all the passengers had been called to the quarter deck to undergo medical inspection and to hand over their tickets, and he had happily agreed to be one of the ship's constables. The responsibility for supervising the allocation of rations and liaising between the passengers and ship's officers would add interest to the journey. When the barque truly broke free into open water, however, and the mainsail embraced a lively breeze, it was a different story. He began to wonder whether he would be able to stay on his feet long enough to fulfil his duties.

He was not alone. Draped over the rails nearby or collapsed in misery around the deck and below decks were many of his fellow passengers. As the ship rose and fell on the waves so did the contents of their stomachs.

"Land lubbers," chuckled a grey-whiskered seaman behind Murdoch as he hauled on a rope to secure the rigging. Chewing tobacco he spat with precision over the side and hailed the cabin boy just about to disappear down a ladder. "Here Tom, get some fresh water for these folk."

Water was rationed but the old sailor knew the captain made allowances for the first day or two when his passengers had particular need. The boy soon returned with a pail of fresh water and a ladle. Murdoch took a small amount to swill his mouth out and then swallowed a mouthful. His innards felt a little more settled as he nodded his thanks, and the cabin boy moved to another man further along the rail.

By late afternoon a squall got up. "Passengers below decks," ordered the captain as sailors ran backwards and forwards and climbed like monkeys up into the rigging to bring in the excess sails.

The single men were in the bow, about as far away from the single women in the rear of the vessel as the god-fearing owners could arrange. Murdoch was amused by a precaution so clearly unnecessary at the present moment. Male or female, many could hardly raise themselves to stand and were far from fit for anything more energetic.

Although Murdoch was no longer vomiting, others were still severely indisposed. The passengers were confined below decks in areas designated for single men, families and single women. Each section was divided by a narrow corridor between two-tier bunks with belongings and rations stacked precariously in the centre. With the slop buckets positioned at either end of each 'cabin' in regular use, the atmosphere was highly unpleasant.

Murdoch had the extra difficulty of being taller than average. At six feet five inches he was a giant compared to most of his companions. There was little more than seven feet of head room in steerage, and it took him some time to find a position that was comfortable enough for him to fall asleep on the six foot square bunk, which he shared with three other men. In his slumber his legs sought release by extending out into the gangway. Another passenger, dashing madly in the dark for the slop bucket, tripped over them. Murdoch awoke suddenly, in time to witness the contents of the poor man's stomach exploding forth as he hit the floor.

"I won't get in the way, sir, but I'd be grateful if you would let me sleep on deck where there is more room," Murdoch petitioned the captain the next morning. "I could spread out by the life boats or anywhere else you'd prefer."

"Note in the log, Mr Adams, permission granted to Mr Lancer to sleep on deck during fine weather due to his exceptional size." Captain Livingston's voice was stern, but there was a glint of amusement in his eyes. "You will go below decks with the rest at other times, sir, and if you do get in the way, you will stay down there."

"Yes sir, thank you." Murdoch made a swift retreat before the captain could change his mind. Sleeping under stars in fresh air instead of under creaking timbers in a miasma of body odour and vomit was a concession, for which he was very grateful. He would take no risks of getting that permission revoked.

Over the following six weeks he got to know many of his fellow passengers well. He still spent about half his days and nights in steerage due to the weather conditions and routine of the ship; passengers were only allowed on deck at certain times of day when they would not get in the way of the crew. Despite the segregation of their quarters and on deck, some intermixing of the sexes still took place. As constable, Murdoch had to collect the daily rations from the galley for his part of steerage, and in doing so came in passing contact with his female counterparts. Everyone was officially allowed to mix together for church services on a Sunday, and there was the occasional dance when the weather was fine.

One day when a young shepherd was feeling unwell, Murdoch offered to feed his dogs and discovered how his bedfellow had become so friendly with a young woman from Dumfries. To get to where the dogs were kennelled, he had permission to cross over the poop deck, which was reserved for the single women. In addition, the kennels were very conveniently out of sight of the quarterdeck.

"You jammy beggar," he ribbed the man upon his return.

"Ah well, it's amazing how long it takes to feed three dogs," sighed the shepherd with mock gravity as he roused himself from his sick bed to accept a smuggled gift from his Mary.

"How thoughtful," he said, shaking out the neatly stitched handkerchief and blowing his nose vigorously. "I only sneezed a couple of times yesterday. Or do you think she objected to me using me sleeve?"

Although no particular girl caught Murdoch's eye, with his tall good-looks he was the focus for more than his fair share of flirting. It would have been rude not to respond in kind. His mother had always taught him to be polite, had she not?

Most steerage passengers were penniless crofters evicted from their livelihoods by landlords enclosing land for sheep. Some had their passage paid for by those same landlords. It depended how you looked on it whether that was generosity or simply an attempt to assuage their consciences and get rid of a problem. The remaining passengers were those who deliberately sought greater opportunities in a new land, mainly artisans, domestic servants or skilled agricultural workers. Some a social degree higher, like Murdoch, could have afforded a cabin, but preferred to save their funds for their new lives.

When they were not allowed on deck, they were confined below in cramped conditions. Apart from carrying out basic housekeeping chores as directed by the constables, the men passed the time by playing cards or games like shove penny, carving small trinkets, talking or telling stories. Some artisans earned money during the voyage by plying their trade. Only a few like Murdoch could read and write much beyond their name. That was one reason why he had been chosen as a constable.

Many of those who were literate kept a journal, read or wrote poetry to pass the time. The ship boasted a small library for the use of its constables, and besides that the men readily shared what books they had brought with them. An avid reader with eclectic tastes, Murdoch had enjoyed Charles Dickens' earlier works, so he had brought _Nicholas Nickleby_ with him to help pass the time. He was not disappointed. Another passenger lent him _Frankenstein_ in exchange when he was finished. He started to read a translation of Homer's_ Iliad_, but unfortunately the ship's copy had pages missing. He put it aside in favour of Shakespeare's _Julius Caesar_ with every intention of reading the _Iliad_ another time when he could spare the money to buy his own copy.

Sometimes a man would read aloud, usually poetry. A book of poems by Robbie Burns naturally proved popular. Though it may not have been the best choice psychologically during a sea voyage, Murdoch's passionate rendition of _The Wreck of the Hesperus_ by a new American writer, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, was also a favourite.

A special friendship developed between Murdoch and a young cordwainer from Hexham. Ben Telford was one of the few Englishmen aboard ship. By his way of it, he was not only escaping his father's workshops, but also his domination. Like Murdoch, Ben was emigrating to seek his own fortune and adventure. When he was not adding to his savings by mending his fellow passengers' boots and Murdoch had fulfilled his daily tasks as constable, they shared their enthusiasm for all they had heard and read about America. Many otherwise empty hours were filled discussing their hopes and dreams.

"I'll get work with a Boston manufacturer for the first year, maybe two. Once I've earned more money, I'll head west to a town without a bootmaker and set up my own business. I'll prove to the old codger I can make it on my own, if it kills me." Ben jumped his black checker piece over several of Murdoch's red ones. "I have a cousin near Boston, who will put me up for a while. That's why I paid passage on the _Duchess_."

"I'm for California eventually, but I need the help of land agents based in Boston to arrange things," Murdoch replied. He had researched America and its neighbours for several years. Originally he had envisaged settling within the existing territories of the United States, but when he read _Two Years before the Mast_ he knew California was where he wanted to be. It was currently part of Mexico, but from what he had read it would soon become part of the United States. It was only a matter of time. There was something exciting about being a pioneer in a new territory or state. "See here, land in the north is expected to become available soon and sell cheaply. I have a letter of introduction from my old employer to a man of influence in Boston. With luck he will be able to put me in touch with the right people. I need to borrow a little more capital to help with set up costs."

"A little more capital? You'll need more than a little capital to finance what you have written here! I know you said you'd been saving, but even in your lofty position as estate manager, you can't have been earning that much surely? You may have to lower your sights, my friend."

"Ah well, my brother and grandfather insisted on giving me what they said was my inheritance before I left, and it was nae just my wages that I was saving," Murdoch admitted. "I had other income from a deal I made with the laird some years back."

"Go on with you! The likes of us don't make deals with lords," Ben retorted. "Seriously?"

Murdoch shrugged and smiled. He remembered clearly the event that had proven so profitable. It could have easily gone the other way. It could have seen him dead.

Notes:

_Duchess of Argyle _was a real ship and Captain Livingston was its captain in 1842 when the barque transported Scottish emigrants to Auckland, New Zealand. The appointment of constables and the library for their use are mentioned in the log of that voyage. Other aspects of emigrant ship's rules and conditions have been gleaned from a variety of Internet sources concerning similar ships of the day. I do not know if the 'Duchess' ever sailed to Boston; I borrowed it for the purposes of this story.

In 1834 a young law student, Richard Dana, sailed from Boston to California, by way of Cape Horn. Six years later he published an account of his experiences, _Two Years before the Mast_, which created a great deal of interest in California for many Easterners. He described California as having beautiful land with mountains, pleasant sunny weather and a lack of people. Those that were there did not seem to understand the great potential of the region according to Dana.

'The Wreck of the Hesperus' was a poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow in _Ballads and Other Poems_, 1841. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (February 27, 1807 – March 24, 1882) was an American poet and educator whose works include "Paul Revere's Ride", The Song of Hiawatha, and Evangeline. Longfellow wrote predominantly lyric poems, known for their musicality and often presenting stories of mythology and legend. He became the most popular American poet of his day and also had success overseas. He has been criticized, however, for imitating European styles and writing specifically for the masses.


	3. From H to H Chap3 Bonnie Prince Charlie

From Highlands to Homecoming by Margaret P

_(My thanks to betas, Terri Derr and Anna Orr, for their patience and invaluable advice.)_

Words: 1580

Chapter Three: Bonnie Prince Charlie

"I'd been working for the local laird about a year when his prize bull calf strayed through a broken wall and fell into a ghyll." Murdoch recalled. Moving his checker piece out of danger, he stood up from the bunk where he and Ben were playing. To relieve the cramp beginning in his legs, he reached up to touch the timbers above his head and bent at the knees up and down a few times before settling back to the game.

"A what?"

"A glen with verra steep sides."

"You mean a ravine," corrected Ben running his fingers back through tangled, unwashed hair. "You need to learn to speak English—well, American at any rate—if you want to do business with the moneymen of Boston. I'm told they're a snooty lot."

"Anyway," Murdoch continued unperturbed by his friend's insult—the pot calling the kettle black after all. "The poor beast was unhurt, but marooned on a ledge about half way down. The burn was deep at the bottom and there were no rocks to climb up from. It was cliff either side for several yards so there was no hope of rescue that way. The only chance was with ropes and straight down from the top."

"And your lord ordered you down?" Ben asked incredulously. "You could have been killed."

"Aye, I could have been. It was how my father died, trying to rescue one of his own cattle, but nay, the laird didna order me down. I volunteered."

The memory of that day filled his mind as he retold the story. The laird had been called to assess the situation. Murdoch and three other men had stood by waiting for instruction, including the stockman whose job it had been to repair the broken wall the day before the calves were released into that paddock. Murdoch had watched the laird ride southward and look back to see what Murdoch and the others already knew.

The animal had survived the fall. It must have wandered too close to the edge where the ground had jutted out with nothing to support it. The weight had caused the soil to give way and a slide of scree could be seen to the south end of the ledge where the calf now stood. A solitary clump of gorse clung to the rocks at that point. It must have been the only thing between the calf and certain death as the rock-face fell almost straight down from there to the burn below. A miracle the beast had not broken something, but it was on all fours and apart from a few scratches apparently unscathed. There was no way of reaching it however. No man could navigate the slip itself even with ropes. The cliff extended too far either side of the outcrop to make a sideways approach feasible. Straight down with ropes from the place where the men now waited for him seemed the only option, with few footholds and only a couple of hardy gorse bushes to hold onto. The last few yards to the ledge were a sheer drop and any man attempting the task would be relying solely on the rope and the strength of those at the top manning it.

Murdoch knew the laird was considering whether to send one of them down. By rights Grant, the shirker responsible for mending the wall, should be the rescuer, but he was the heaviest and he had a wife and bairns. Murdoch was the lightest and most agile despite his height, but he doubted the laird would ask him to do it. Allowing for the difference in social standing, the laird had called his father 'friend'. He would not want to be responsible for putting Murdoch in danger of being killed in the same manner.

"Shoot it," the laird ordered having ridden back to the waiting group. "We cannot bring the beast up safely. Better it have a quick death than starve slowly."

Macleod, the headman, retrieved the flintlock rifle strapped to his horse. He had come prepared, guessing the laird's decision. Valuable as the calf was, the laird held fast to the traditions of Clan Chief. To put any of his men in harm's way for the sake of an animal would have been out of character.

"Wait." Murdoch stepped forward. "Let me try to bring him up."

"I will not ask you to risk your life to save a beast," responded the laird.

"You're not asking, milord, I'm offering—if the others will manage the ropes and if you will make it worth my while."

"I'm listening."

"If I save him, I get half the value of his off-spring."

"Half the value of …. Ha, you're your father's son, all right—as canny as your brother an' all." The laird threw back his head and laughed out loud. "Well, if you're sure, I have nothing to lose by the attempt."

Murdoch grinned, and faced the other men. "Will you help me? Man the ropes and I'll stand you all a drink whether I'm successful or no."

"Aye, we'll help," nodded Macleod. "But leave your purse up here, laddie—just in case."

Ropes were fetched and the three stockmen stripped off their jackets and took their positions. The laird and horse at the rear would act as final anchor as there was nothing else to do the job. Murdoch took off his coat and tied the rope securely around his waist. With smaller ropes slung over his head and shoulder he stepped back over the edge and inched his way slowly down the steep stony slope until he reached sheer drop. Finding firm footing against two lichen-covered rocks, he adjusted his grip and tested the rope once more before lowering himself over the edge as the men at the top paid out the slack to his shouted instruction. It seemed like a lifetime before his feet touched solid ground again, yet looking up there was only about thirty feet of cliff above him. The stranded calf bellowed pitifully and nudged against him almost sending him over the edge.

"Get back, you damn fool," he chided. Looping one of the smaller ropes around its neck he looked for something to fasten it to, but in the end just used it to hold the animal steady while he forced it down on its side and bound its legs. Looking down on the struggling animal, however, he realised there was no way he would be able to carry the beast and climb to safety at the same time.

"You need to make a harness attached to a separate rope to haul the calf up," he shouted. "I think I can guide it over the edge, but I cannae carry it over."

More men were brought from a nearby field. A harness was made and lowered, and Murdoch secured it to the calf.

"Haul away," he yelled, and the calf rose into the air bellowing in terror. When it reached the top of the cliff and could go no further without his help, Murdoch called for the men to start pulling him up. Reaching the same point he let go of the rope and grappled desperately for leverage, his legs swimming in thin air. With every muscle protesting, he dragged his body up and over the edge of the overhang onto the steeply sloping upper ground. A few minutes rest face down on the rocky incline, the plaintive sounds of the calf ringing in his ears, and then he carefully repositioned himself sideways. Using one foot and arm to prevent himself falling and the other leg and arm to push the animal wide of the edge as the men above pulled, he managed to manoeuvre the calf over and onto the slope beside him.

"I must be mad," he panted as he adjusted the ropes around the struggling calf and cut its legs loose. It could now help itself by climbing the remaining distance as the rope dragged it upwards. "Stark, staring mad!"

Mad or not, he and the calf had finally reached safety and over the following years his agreement with the laird had been highly profitable. Bonnie Prince Charlie, as he had christened the young bull, had proved no worse for wear due to his ordeal; in fact it rather seemed to have increased his appreciation of life, particularly when it came to the opposite sex. Once the animal was of age to begin breeding, his libido seemed to have no bounds and his progeny was soon to be found the length and breadth of the Highlands. Each one sold reaped Murdoch half the sale price and when he finally left the laird's employ and the value of the stock still held was calculated, he came away with a tidy sum. Added to that was also what he and the laird agreed would be fair compensation for any future progeny. Murdoch was not prepared to relinquish his rights just because he was emigrating. He had intended to ask the laird to pay his brother instead of sending payment to America, but the laird suggested a lump sum to buy out his share. That suited them both and an agreement was soon reached.

"So how much is a cow worth and how many did Bonnie Prince Charlie sire?" enquired Ben so engrossed in the tale that he had inadvertently allowed Murdoch to nearly clear the board of his checkers.

"Enough," replied Murdoch, "Just enough."


	4. From H to H Chap4 In America Now

From Highlands to Homecoming by Margaret P

_(My thanks to betas, Terri Derr and Anna Orr, for their patience and invaluable advice.)_

Chapter Four: In America Now (Words: 1814)

Before the _Duchess of Argyle_ docked its passengers were ready on deck with their belongings, eager to see their new homeland and to feel its solid ground beneath their feet. The ship would return to Britain within a few days, the hull filled to capacity with cargo. The crew started dismantling the bunks in steerage to allow for this even as Murdoch and Ben made their way to disembark. Behind the docks they could see the bustling city of Boston spreading out before them.

"Not as big as Glasgow, I think, but bigger than Inverness," Murdoch remarked with interest.

Ben stopped at the end of gangplank and grinned over his shoulder at Murdoch. "Next step American soil. Dare I do it?"

Murdoch laughed and shoved him forward. Stepping onto the wharf after him, the Murdoch felt a great sense of achievement. He had made it. The first hurdle of crossing the Atlantic was behind him, and the next stage of his great adventure was about to begin.

He parted company with his friend in Dock Square not far from the pier. Ben was headed for Roxbury, a town on the outskirts of Boston, so he turned south down Washington Street.

"Now are you sure you don't want to come with me? My cousin won't mind putting you up for a night or two."

"That is kind of you, but I have affairs to attend to in town. I'll find a room there, so I can make an early start," replied Murdoch. "I have your cousin's address. I'll be in touch."

Murdoch wended his way through unfamiliar streets towards the business district of town seeking directions along the way. Boston was much larger than Inverness. The strange sound of American accents mingled with the normal hubbub of carts and horses. He stopped along the way to listen and watch. There were an incredible variety of people and commercial activities, and one extremely vocal puritan on his soap box preaching hellfire and damnation. Stepping quickly back to avoid a bar brawl that spilled onto the street Murdoch bumped into someone. Apologising profusely he stopped mid-sentence and just gaped for several seconds—the fellow was black. Murdoch had never seen a negro before. The man was in a hurry and did not seem to notice Murdoch's astonishment. Mercifully he was able to close his mouth and pull himself together without drawing too much attention. Still he felt incredibly foolish.

His first business was to locate the bank to deposit his gold and acquire some American currency. His laird had given him a letter of introduction to the manager of one of Boston's leading banks. He was a relative and the laird was confident that there could be none better to advise a new immigrant of means. Murdoch found the bank without mishap, a large red brick building with marble portico. Inside he was asked his business by a smartly dressed young man not much older than himself. This fellow stood near the door, and his sole purpose seemed to be to greet customers and usher them to the appropriate bank official. He escorted Murdoch to an imposing oak door and bid him wait as he knocked and went inside. Through the doorway Murdoch could see a middle-aged man in a dark suit seated behind a large mahogany desk, engrossed in the contents of a leather-bound ledger. His escort hurriedly whispered something in the other man's ear. The manager nodded, and the younger man beckoned Murdoch forward as he departed.

"Mr Lancer, welcome. I am Douglas Muir," greeted the bank manager with his hand outstretched. "Young Evans tells me you wish to open an account with us and that you bring word from my cousin in Inverness."

"That is correct, sir," responded Murdoch shaking hands and accepting a seat in one of two polished- wood chairs in front of the desk. "I've just arrived from Scotland and have with me gold that I wish to deposit for safe keeping until I can purchase land in California. I worked for your cousin for some years. He was kind enough to give me this letter for you by way of introduction."

Douglas Muir unsealed the letter and quickly surveyed its contents.

"My cousin speaks highly of you, sir, and indicates that you may have no small sum to deposit with us today. I believe you are the kind of man who will do well out west, and I'm happy to do anything I can to assist you."

"Thank you, sir."

The process of opening an account was undertaken without further delay. Murdoch noted that, although Douglas Muir claimed to have only left Scotland six years earlier, he sounded remarkably American. "You have lost your Scottish accent, sir."

The bank manager looked Murdoch straight in the eye and hesitated only a moment before saying, "I will speak frankly. In America, as a rule, money speaks louder than background or name. Here in Boston, however, it's a little different. There is an elite. The moneymen you may need to do business with take pride in being among the first Americans. They could look down on you, because of your background. Your speech draws attention to the fact that you are a new immigrant. I would, therefore, suggest you do what you can to alter it."

Recognising the bank manager was genuinely trying to help him, Murdoch was not offended. Ben had after all offered similar advice. "Useful to know, sir. I will try my best to do that."

His business done Murdoch asked the bank manager where he might find comfortable, inexpensive accommodation close to the centre. He was referred to a boarding house for single gentlemen a few blocks away, owned and run by a respectable widowed lady.

Mrs Matilda Merriweather, Tilly to her friends, was a very round, very pretentious and very talkative woman of indeterminate age. Her fisherman husband had come to an untimely end when he had jumped from his fishing boat to the jetty and missed.

"Oh, it was awful. Crushed he was, crushed between the boat and the pier. My poor William never stood a chance. God rest his soul."

Mrs Merriweather had bought her boarding house with the proceeds from the sale of her husband's fishing boat. She only accepted men of good character into her establishment. A referral from Mr Muir at the bank was considered very satisfactory evidence of such character. The bank manager would never send her a gentleman who could not pay his way.

"A storm was coming in, you see. But they had a problem at sea and were late returning. The wind had got up. Young Obadiah was trying to secure the rope at the bow, but he saw the whole thing. Poor, dear, dear William—he tossed the mooring rope, but missed the bollard, so he tried to jump ashore. Such a brave man, but foolish, foolish thing to do in such weather. A wave took the boat up. Knocked him off balance, and he fell between the schooner and the wharf as the wave dropped." Mrs Merriweather drew in a great breath and exhaled audibly, shaking her head and dabbing at the corner of her eyes with a lace hanky.

"It must have been very distressing for you. Did you say you had a spare room, ma'am?"

"Oh yes—the room. Please excuse me, young man. It's the emotion of it all, you see. It still affects me. Poor widowed woman that I am."

Murdoch endeavoured to look sympathetic, but really he was still not absolutely certain that the lady had a room available.

"There will be no spirits, smoking or women upstairs, Mr Lancer. I lock the front door at 10 o'clock. Breakfast is between 7 o'clock and 8 o'clock in the dining room, and I insist that you present yourself shaved and fully dressed. The evening meal is at 6 o'clock sharp. I don't provide luncheon. You will do me the courtesy of informing me in the morning if you will not be in for your dinner."

"Yes ma'am, that sounds fine. May I see the room?"

The widow led the way up two flights of stairs. "You may have one bath per week. Water is precious here in Boston, so do not waste it. We are fortunate to have our own well, but who knows how long that will last. You must carry the water up to your room yourself and empty the bath once you are done. The tin bath is kept in the cupboard under the stairs. Rent is payable weekly in advance on Fridays."

She opened the door into a tidy but basic bedroom that overlooked the street. A multi-coloured patchwork quilt covered an iron bedstead, and a commode could be seen under one end. There was a doily-covered washstand with china jug and basin in the far corner by the casement window, and a serviceable chest of drawers with a small mirror above it to its right. The only other things in the room were an upholstered hard-backed chair next to the bed and a rather worn Persian carpet on the polished floor.

"Seeing you are such a tall young man, I'm not sure the bed will accommodate you fully, but you'll just have to bend some. I assure you it is the standard length. You won't find longer." Mrs Merriweather bustled into the room and ran a finger over the dresser top. "That girl," she huffed, taking a rag from her pocket and dusting everything within reach.

"I'll take it," said Murdoch. "I'll pay up to Friday week now, shall I?" His new landlady accepted his money with a nod of approval and handed him the key before closing the door behind her. He heard her calling out for the housemaid as she descended the stairs.

Dropping his trunk Murdoch pulled his boots off and bounced up and down to test the bed springs. Folding the pillow double he leaned back on his new bed. Oh, the luxury of having it all to himself! Stretching out he found lying diagonally he could just fit within its confines. The day had been long. There was just over an hour until tea. He would rest his eyes for a few minutes before unpacking. He would just …

Sadly the good impression Murdoch had made on his landlady lasted less than two hours. He arrived late for his dinner. Mrs Merriweather made her displeasure known, much to Murdoch's chagrin and the guarded amusement of the other guests. "You may join us for your dinner, sir—this once—but I will not stand for you to be late again. Boston is not some Highland farmyard. Timeliness is the foundation of good manners, sir, and in Boston, good manners matter. Leave your foreign ways at the door, Mr Lancer. You are in America now."

Note: . NINETEENTH-CENTURY Boston was a place of prodigious growth. The population almost doubled from 1830 to 1848. Most people drew water from their own or nearby private wells. Some purchased water from the Boston Aqueduct Co., which since 1795 had piped water from Jamaica Pond to parts of the city. Between 1825 and the mid-1840s multiple studies were commissioned by the city to look into the possibility of a comprehensive waterworks to serve the entire expanding metropolis, but nothing was decided.

By the 1840s, the state of the water supply had reached a critical point. A survey found that while about half of Boston's houses had wells, almost none provided water soft enough to be used for washing, and a large number were effectively dry. Some households had to send someone several blocks to fetch enough water to live on; others carefully guarded their own supply.


	5. From H to H Chap5 The Business of Land

From Highlands to Homecoming By Margaret P.

_(My thanks to betas, Terri Derr and Anna Orr, for their patience and invaluable advice.)_

Chapter 5: The Business of Land (Words: 2688)

Murdoch went down to breakfast in good time the following morning, eager to recover some ground with his landlady, but she was not there. He soon learned that Matilda Merriweather rarely appeared before mid-morning. Breakfast was prepared and served by the housemaid, Rose, a cheerful girl, who was a great favourite with the boarders.

"Pull up a chair—Lancer isn't it? I'm Jim Harper, one of the longer serving inmates." A dapper young man stood up from the table and offered his hand. "This is Charlie Beckinsale and the body behind the newspaper is Henry Thompson." A toast-filled hand rose up from behind the _Boston Post_ in casual greeting. "Help yourself to coffee and toast, and just let Rose know whether you want eggs and how you like them—sausage or bacon depending on the day. Today is a sausage day."

An hour later after a well-cooked breakfast, Murdoch and Harper left the boarding house together headed in the same direction. Murdoch had an appointment with land agents in the centre of town. They were about halfway there when they stopped outside New England Enterprises.

"Wholesalers and General Importers," Murdoch read the inscription above the entrance. "Is this where you work?"

"It is. The owner, Mr Kirby, is an excellent employer, old Boston family, very respectable. He's grooming me to take over as manager—introducing me to all the right people. No sons you see. I, Lancer, am going places."

Murdoch followed Harper's directions and soon located the land agents' office. As promised, Douglas Muir had notified G.W. Burke and Son to expect him, and he spent a very productive morning discussing potential land purchases with Mr George Washington Burke and his son, Alfred.

In addition to other types of property, ex-mission land was slowly becoming available. Vast areas held by Franciscan missions had been repossessed by the Mexican government a few years earlier and divided up into large land grants, most of which went to existing landowners. The grants were provisional for five years. Increasingly the Californio ranchos, who acquired land in this way, were legally able to sell.

"Burke and Son have been active in California for five or six years now," explained Alfred Burke. "My father foresaw there would be an increase in the number of land transactions when the Mexican government started repossessing mission land. Once I joined the firm, I began to visit the area regularly. We have established extensive contacts and have now visited most of the estates north of Santa Barbara."

"Some landowners with close affiliation to Spain were always likely to be unhappy under Mexican governance," George Burke elaborated further. "Many landowners of pure Spanish blood think too highly of themselves and resent being told what to do by Mexican riff-raff."

The older man started to search his waist coat pockets. Finally he retrieved a vesta case and tobacco pouch from the jacket hung over the back of his chair, and began to fill his pipe.

"Father, watch where you throw your matches. You'll start a fire." Mr Burke Junior hastily picked up a blackened match from some browning parchment and transferred it to the ash tray on the mantelpiece. "It stands to reason too that more and more of those who acquired grant land early will want to sell now their ownership is confirmed."

"For the past two years we have paid a resident surveyor a stipend to relay information back to us. He acts as our agent. More and more Californios are approaching us to sell land on their behalf. We currently have two substantial tracts on our books that might suit. The Estancia Diaz is here on the coast some distance north of the San Francisco Bay." Mr Burke Senior pointed to a large map on the office wall. "It's about the size you had in mind."

"No, father, that land is more suited to horticultural use. Mr Lancer is a cattleman. Now the San Joachin estate on the other hand would be perfect." Unrolling a large map, the younger Mr Burke pointed out both estates, but his enthusiasm for the land in the San Joachin Valley was clear. "We have only just been contracted to sell the Estancia Talavera, and it is an excellent property. It will not last long on our books, even though it has been neglected by its owner for the past year. The estate comes with established cattle herds and a workforce. More land will become available, Mr Lancer, but I visited this estancia two years ago before Señor Talavera returned to Spain, and frankly I do not believe you could do better."

Unfurling another large chart, Alfred Burke showed Murdoch a more detailed view of the ranch's boundaries while his father enjoyed his pipe and went to the window to investigate the source of a commotion outside. "As you can see it is more centrally located than the other estate, with a variety of land, but mostly suitable for cattle. It's within two days ride of Yerba Buena where ships regularly stop for hides and tallow."

"Get that muck out of here!" The immaculate Mr Burke Senior hollered like navvy through the open sash. Murdoch and Alfred Burke moved quickly to the other window to see what was happening. A pure-finder's barrow had been clipped and overturned by a brewery dray as they passed each other. Now the contents of the barrow were spread over the street outside the land agents' office, and the pungent aroma of dog faeces was beginning to fill the air. The pure-finder was screaming insults at the drayman, whose Anglo-Saxon response was clearly heard by all three men. George Burke slammed the window shut and straightened his vest. "Now where were we?"

Grinning at the gentleman's sudden change in demeanour, Murdoch went back to the desk and turned his attention once again to the maps. He recognised the potential of the property immediately. He had researched California as far as possible before leaving Scotland. He knew this area had land suited to cattle, but he also knew water was a fundamental consideration. The map in front of him showed a significant river as well as a small lake and some smaller streams. Upon request, Mr Burke provided more maps, geographic reports, sketches and a written description of the land; its climate and population; and what towns, resources and transport links were nearby.

The land comprised secularised mission land and other land adjoining. By the terms of the original grant the mission land could not be rented or subdivided and no public roads could be closed. The profits from hides and tallow were modest, and the Mexican government currently restricted trade through high customs duties. These considerations limited the value of land, but Murdoch was still surprised the asking price per acre was so low.

"This is not Scotland, Mr Lancer. There are very few people and even fewer, who know how to develop the land or who have the inclination to do so. You have read _Two Years Before the Mast_? Yes, I thought so. Dana does not exaggerate. Many existing landowners are not driven to enterprise."

Mr Burke Senior sat down at his desk and surveyed Murdoch through pince-nez spectacles. "We have been contracted to sell this land, and we have encouraged the owner to offer it at a very reasonable price as he wishes to liquidate his investment quickly in one transaction. We do not wish to waste your time or ours by misleading you. The price per acre reflects the emptiness of the country, the current income and legal limitations, and the vendor's eagerness to sell. It also reflects the undeveloped and variable nature of the land. Within this parcel there are some very fertile areas, some excellent pasture, a little cultivated land and much more yet to be developed. Horses roam wild and are free for the taking. There is, however, also some rough hill country and barren wasteland. Some of these more difficult areas could be brought to life with investment and hard work, but other parts are unlikely to ever be productive. Cattle are raised on the estate for a modest profit and have been for several years. We believe there is potential for higher profits through cattle and other enterprises, but there is no denying that it will take foresight and a lot of effort."

Murdoch knew he would be buying potential income after a lot of hard work rather than immediate comfort. He would be gambling on a growing population and increasing demand for cattle products over time. Like the Burkes, he believed strongly that the expansion west of the United States, new technology like railways and steamships and possibly even new trade between Pacific nations would increase the market for beef and other cattle products. His research had told him that land prices were low. He had expected to buy more land than was common in Scotland, and he knew that was needed to make a Californian ranch viable. He had not expected an estate of this size however, and he was somewhat daunted by the prospect. There were no land taxes under the Mexican regime though, and in every respect other than size the estate was exactly what he was looking for. Unbelievably the asking price for the estate in its entirety, including cattle and chattels, fell just within the bounds of what Douglas Muir had indicated the bank would lend based on the deposit he proposed, the money he would have left and the knowledge, expertise and reputation he brought to the enterprise.

Murdoch's gut told him this was an opportunity too good to pass up. Only viewing the property would confirm his choice, but he was optimistic. "Sirs, I can hardly believe I am saying this, having only just arrived in America, but I am very interested."

"Excellent! The land grant was provisional on certain conditions. We have confirmed that all were met by the current owner, at least to minimum standards. To be secure of your purchase, we would recommend you do more comprehensive surveying and marking, and that you endeavour to meet every other condition as well." Mr Burke Senior peered over his long nose and spectacles, making sure he had Murdoch's full attention. "It is important that you abide by the rules, Mr Lancer. You must leave no doubt to your legal title. We have it on good authority that land title would be rigorously scrutinised if California became part of America. You would be safeguarding your interests under both governments if you were meticulous in this respect."

"Understood. Is there anything else I should know?"

"You must apply for Mexican citizenship as soon as you commit to the purchase," Alfred Burke advised. "The original grants were only made to Mexican citizens and California is still part of Mexico."

"Are you a religious man, Mr Lancer?" enquired Mr Burke Senior.

"I believe in God, if that is what you mean? But wait, I know what you are going to say: to be a Mexican citizen one must be Catholic. I am."

"You surprise me. I somehow thought you would be Church of Scotland."

"I'm both," replied Murdoch, enjoying the puzzled looks. "My father's family is still papist. It's not uncommon in the Highlands, though increasingly the Kirk is taking over. My mother's family is Protestant. I was brought up in that Church, but my father never converted. His sister persuaded him to have all his children baptised when I was just a babe—done in secret, behind my mother's back. There was hell to pay when she found out. The two women haven't spoken since, though I understand they had plenty to say to each other at the time." Murdoch chuckled.

"Fiery?"

"That would be putting it mildly—or so my brother told me. Neither woman is known to back down from an argument, and while I've only seen my mother really angry once, I can tell you the sparks fairly flew."

"I take it you were the target of her displeasure?"

"Aye, a small matter of a calf and a ravine. Perhaps I'll tell you about it one day, but after that my sympathies lay squarely with my Auntie Morag. Besides, unwittingly she did me a great service. I have a parchment that confirms the baptism amongst my papers."

"Well, it certainly makes things easier in the first instance. We predict California will eventually transfer to American control, and then it will likely not matter." Mr Burke Senior started to rummage around his desk. Stacks of files teetered along one edge and scrolled maps of varying sizes were scattered among a jumble of other documents. Murdoch had never seen such apparent disorganisation. It was in stark contrast to the son's orderly desk, upon which they now worked. "Where have you put my pipe, Alfred?"

Ignoring his father, Alfred Burke continued, "If and when California does join the Union, we recommend you apply for American naturalisation promptly. It would be an advantage to be an American citizen when confirming your claim to the land under the United States government."

"I always hoped to become American eventually."

"A clipper, the _Mary Ann_, is scheduled to leave for South America in just under four weeks. I have already booked passage to Chagres for my own purposes. The river and mule journey across the Isthmus of Panama and then on by ship is by far the fastest way to get to California. We would disembark at Monterey, the centre of government and about three days ride from the Estancia Talavera. If you wish to proceed, I will arrange for you to accompany me."

Finally finding his pipe where he had left it on the window sill, Mr Burke Senior reminded Murdoch he would need more than just the purchase price. "You need to cover set up costs and have access to enough capital to cover your expenses until your ranch begins to make money. The hide market in particular is profitable and several Boston businesses are involved so you should not have too much difficulty in finding a backer with your credentials, though it will depend on what you are prepared to put up as collateral. I doubt the bank will lend beyond the mortgage on the land until you demonstrate your ability to make a go of it."

"Aye, Mr Muir, the bank manager, has already warned me that would be the case and has given me the names of some potential investors," Murdoch agreed, pulling a list from his pocket. "I had not envisaged finding suitable land so soon, but now that I know what it will cost me and have evidence to support my application, I'll visit these gentlemen and see what can be arranged."

"Who has he suggested?"

"Edgar Harraway, George Muller—and Harlan Garret as a last resort, though he didn't say why. Do you know anything of them?"

"All are men able and willing to invest in more risky ventures for a decent return. I would avoid doing business with Garrett if you can, but it will not hurt to sound him out. The knowledge that you are talking with him might stir one of the others to support you. There is a degree of competition between such men."

"And why should I be wary of Mr Garrett?"

"On your voyage from Scotland, sir, did you happen to see any sharks?" replied Mr Burke Senior, blowing a large smoke ring into the air and watching its progress before looking enquiringly at Murdoch.

"No, sir, but I hear they are most unpleasant beasts."

"Once a shark bites, Mr Lancer, it does not let go. Its jaws are made that way. Once Harlan Garrett invests money in an enterprise, he has a tendency to behave in a similar manner. His contracts have been known to make grown men cry when they realise there is no getting rid of his interest in their businesses. If you are forced to deal with Harlan Garrett, Mr Lancer, make very sure you employ a good lawyer and read the fine print before you sign."

Notes:

In 1834 a young law student, Richard Dana, sailed from Boston to California, by way of Cape Horn. Six years later he published an account of his experiences, "Two Years before the Mast", which created a great deal of interest in California for many Easterners. He described California as having beautiful land with mountains, pleasant sunny weather and a lack of people. Those that were there did not seem to understand the great potential of the region according to Dana.

A pure finder was someone who collected dog faeces to sell to the tanneries, which used it as a siccative for bookbinding leather. Boston was active in the hide trade from California so it is logical that pure finders, usually old women or children, searched the streets of that city.


	6. From H to H Chap6 A Series of Meetings

From Highlands to Homecoming by Margaret P.

Chapter Six: A Series of Meetings (Words: 3,118)

Murdoch had every intention of employing a good lawyer regardless of any dealings he may have with the infamous Mr Garrett. Douglas Muir had set up an appointment for him with a personal friend, James McIntyre, who had offices conveniently situated between the bank and the land agents. After another meeting with Muir the next morning, Murdoch headed to the lawyer's office eager to make his acquaintance and to familiarise him with his plans.

As he approached the address of McIntyre and Associates he saw two young women leave the building. They were clearly friends as they were chatting and laughing and paying too little attention to the steps they were descending. The more animated of the two stumbled, and Murdoch ran forward to prevent her falling to the pavement.

"Are you all right, Miss? He asked with concern, supporting her as she hopped back to sit down upon a lower step.

"Oh yes, thank you. Silly of me, I should have been looking where I was going."

"You've hurt yourself, Catherine. I'll get help from inside," offered her friend.

"Don't fuss, Beth. You're acting like father. I'm not a porcelain doll. I've just twisted my ankle a little. It will be fine in a moment." Raising her skirt slightly she rubbed her ankle and Murdoch enjoyed a quick glimpse of her neatly booted foot and white stocking before he remembered his manners and looked away.

"I am obliged to you, Mr…?" The young lady raised grey-blue eyes to take in her gallant rescuer properly. He turned back to face her, and she blushed.

"Lancer, Miss—Murdoch Lancer."

"I cannot thank you enough for your quick thinking, Mr Lancer," she smiled shyly. "I believe with your assistance, I could stand now." Murdoch was for a moment entranced, but coming to he offered his hand and helped her up. She tried putting weight on her foot while still holding on to him. "You see—good as gold."

"In that case, we should be going," the other young woman declared. "You must excuse us, Mr Lancer, but we are late for an engagement."

The two friends hurried away, arm in arm. Murdoch watched their progress down the street, their heads together in deep discussion. As they reached the corner, they looked back. Seeing his eyes still upon them, they turned away quickly, and then they were gone.

His thoughts were still with the young lady with the grey-blue eyes as he entered the lawyer's office.

"May I help you, sir?"

Murdoch stated his business and was invited to take a seat opposite the secretary's desk. "Mr McIntyre is finishing some other business. He won't be long."

"Who was that who just left?"

"Miss McIntyre and her friend, do you mean?"

"I suppose I do," answered Murdoch. "Is Miss McIntyre called Catherine?"

"No, no, that is her friend, Miss Garrett. Miss McIntyre is Elizabeth, the darker of the two. Why do you ask?"

"Oh, no reason. Well, actually that isn't true. Miss Garrett took a fall, and I was thinking I should make inquiries later to be sure she is all right. You don't by chance know her address?"

A small bell tinkled in the background.

"I can look it up for you while you are talking to Mr McIntyre. He is ready for you now. This way."

His meeting with the lawyer took little more than half an hour. James McIntyre seemed an efficient and intelligent gentleman. He promised to get the legal documents from Burke and Son, and review them thoroughly.

"I have dealt with George and Alfred Burke before and don't foresee any difficulty. Theirs is an established and reputable company. It's always wise to examine sale and purchase agreements with a fine-toothed comb though, especially when foreign laws are involved. One of my associates specialises in Mexican law so I will get him to examine the documents as well."

Mr McIntyre did not represent any of the three investors recommended to Murdoch by the bank manager.

"Conflict of interest. Besides there's too much profit to be made in arguing against them and dissecting their contracts," laughed the attorney. "Joke, Mr Lancer. I'm joking."

Murdoch laughed along with him, but suspected McIntyre was only half joking. He left the building in good humour however, with Catherine Garrett's address safely tucked away in his coat pocket. He had not gone far when he bumped into Jim Harper.

"Hold up, Lancer and I'll introduce you to the gastronomic delights of Boston's eating houses. I'm on my way to lunch. Just dropping these papers into McIntyre—the lawyer— first."

"Your firm uses McIntyre and Associates? I've just hired Mr McIntyre as my lawyer. He came highly recommended by my bank manager."

"Yes, very efficient and reliable. New England Enterprises has used James McIntyre for several years, and he has built up a good team of associates. McIntyre is an abolitionist of course, so some don't like him, but I can assure you he is not a fanatic, and he is very good at the law." Jim hurried off and true to his word was back within a few minutes.

He took Murdoch to the Oyster House in Union Street. Seated around the semi-circular bar, they tucked into generous bowls of clam chowder and fresh baked bread. Not satisfied, Jim then ordered a dozen oysters to share.

"My treat," he declared toasting Murdoch's beer with his brandy and water.

Murdoch accompanied Jim as far as his office and then headed off to locate and make appointments with the three potential investors recommended by Douglas Muir. Their businesses were all in the same general area, and it did not take him long. After that he went to collect the letters of introduction promised by the bank and the portfolios of documents from the land agents that were to be ready for him by 4 o'clock. He now had everything he needed to make his case for backing, and little more than three weeks to wait before sailing to California.

His first appointment was the following morning with George Muller at 10 o'clock. An outwardly amiable gentleman, George Muller had the unnerving ability of making men divulge more than they intended.

"Welcome, Mr Lancer—Murdoch. Take a seat." Accepting the papers Murdoch offered him, Muller tossed them onto his desk and then went to a side cabinet and poured two large glasses of brandy. Handing one to Murdoch, Muller swirled his brandy around the glass a few times before quaffing a healthy mouthful. He closed his eyes savouring the flavour. "Drink up, young man. First class Cognac is for drinking not looking at."

Returning to his desk he read quickly through Douglas Muir's letter of introduction and skimmed the contents of the land agents' portfolio. "Tell me about yourself."

"What would you like to know, sir?"

"Everything. Start with your successes and your plans for California."

The bank was prepared to lend Murdoch a substantial amount of money, and Muller made no secret of the fact that he was impressed. He spoke very little himself preferring to let Murdoch fill any silences that arose, but every so often he would egg Murdoch along by praising him for a decision or course of action taken, congratulating him on the gambles that came off. Murdoch relaxed into friendly conversation and shared stories that he never imagined would form part of this meeting, including the tale of Bonnie Prince Charlie.

"I knew if that wily old Scot was willing to part with his bank's money to a man of your age, there must be something to you. Made a few mistakes as well no doubt? Lord knows I've made plenty. Tell me about yours and the challenges you expect to face in California. What have you learned, Murdoch?"

The topic was introduced so casually, with such bonhomie, that Murdoch very nearly disclosed one of his more serious gaffes. Just at that point when he felt the urge to let words run away with him however, a crucial piece of brotherly advice sprang to mind. Jock had always warned him never to say more than was necessary when negotiating. Information was power. _Keep as much power as you can in your own hands. The principle holds true whether you are negotiating a loan or buying a heifer._

Aware that he may already have said more than was wise, he reined in his words. This time he answered more cautiously with the hope of making light of youthful acts. He now realised some could be seen in an adverse light by a potential investor. "I believe my adventure with the calf was my most impetuous act, Mr Muller, and that was a calculated risk. I wouldn't have attempted it if I hadn't known the men well and trusted them. I was in no real danger with them supporting me, and fortunately my exploits paid off. Even so, I believe I have matured from that time. Business will always involve certain risks, but I intend to take a little more care of my life and your investment in future."

George Muller continued to encourage Murdoch to talk, never asking any question that could be answered simply yes or no, and always appearing to be in sympathy with Murdoch's actions and decisions. He flattered and laughed, but Murdoch stopped drinking his brandy and took more care with his answers. Upon reflection he had revealed a lot more about himself and his plans than he had intended, but he would not make it any worse. The gregarious Mr Muller eventually gave up his delving. Murdoch departed unsure whether the meeting had been a success or not.

Harraway was easier to deal with. Again he took little notice of the paperwork, saying he would read it later. He said he wanted to find out about Murdoch the man, but in fact, during the first half hour, he talked much more about himself. "Harvard educated, Mr Lancer. Studied the law but went directly into the family business. The Harraways came out on the Mayflower you know. Now not even my good friend Sam Cabot can claim that!"

Edgar Harraway was a frightful snob. Recognising this, Murdoch made a real effort to tone down his Scottish brogue. It pricked his conscience a little, but he exaggerated his brother's wealth and the closeness of his relationship with his former employer. Without actually lying, he allowed Mr Harraway to believe that the money he had in the bank was a truer reflection of his background than it actually was.

"So you are related to the Earl?"

"Yes sir. My father and the laird were cousins. They hunted together in their youth and remained good friends until my father's death. The laird has always taken an interest in my affairs."

It was all true up to a point. There are cousins and there are cousins; the kinship was very distant. Similarly, 'friends' may have been too strong a word to describe men, who as adults moved within different levels of society. Certainly, the laird had always taken a pleasing interest in Murdoch, but how much that was due to the deal they had struck and the fact that he worked for the man, Murdoch was not entirely sure himself. All things being equal, however, Murdoch departed reasonably confident of Edgar Harraway's interest.

That left Harlan Garrett. Murdoch approached this meeting the following day with more trepidation—the disadvantage of listening to others. The plushness of the businessman's premises did nothing to put him at ease. Thick Persian carpets lay over highly polished floors. Leather upholstered furniture and the very best mahogany and inlaid desks and cabinetry combined to make the office almost as daunting as the man himself. The other two men had not displayed their wealth at their place of work so blatantly, unless he counted the brandy.

Harlan Garrett was clearly well-to-do and not embarrassed to show it. A greying man around fifty, average height, richly dressed, and well-groomed, he was not handsome but exuded that aura of power and influence that cannot help but intimidate and attract. Social standing was obviously important to him, and Murdoch's youth and newness to America were immediately commented on with disdain.

"Why should I risk my money or reputation backing a young man who only just stepped off an immigrant ship?"

"Why do you ever risk investment, sir? The rate of return on your investment is negotiable. With the help of Mr Muir from the bank, I have prepared a proposal that I believe is fair to both parties, but nothing is set in stone."

Harlan Garrett leaned back in his chair and was silent for several minutes. Murdoch felt uncomfortable under his gaze, and was almost relieved when the interrogation began about his plans and his ability to fulfil them. No pretence of affability in this interview. Murdoch felt like he was being appraised like a diamond in the rough. Was the gem worth the polishing or would cracks appear? What would its ultimate value be and can I own it? No, Mr Garrett, you cannot.

"The particulars about the land are here, sir. With the bank's help, I can finance the purchase myself, but that will leave me with less capital for initial running costs than I should wish. The bank will not lend to me in my own right for that purpose until I have established a credit history in this country. What I am looking for is an investor to guarantee me a line of credit either directly or through the bank for up to five years."

"By which time, if successful, the bank will lend to you in the normal way, but in the mean time you are a risk. What you propose is a very great risk. California is a long way off and currently part Mexico. While there is some talk of it eventually coming under American control, that is not likely for several years. All manner of catastrophes could befall you or your enterprise. I know nothing of you as a man, or, perhaps more importantly, as a cattleman and businessman, than what is contained in these letters and what you tell me of yourself. You are very young and you have no social or financial connections of any worth in this country. I am thinking, if I make you an offer of investment, it would require more substantial collateral than you have indicated here."

"The terms are negotiable up to a point, but there should be no misunderstanding, sir, I am not willing to offer shares in my ranch. Edgar Harraway and George Muller are also considering my proposal. I am expecting a decision from those gentlemen within the next week."

"I will examine the documents you have provided, Mr Lancer. I will be in touch."

Murdoch knew he was dismissed. He debated if he should ask Mr Garrett whether he was related to Miss Catherine Garrett, but decided against it. He had intended to ask McIntyre's secretary, but the man was busy with another client when Murdoch departed. He only briefly interrupted his conversation to pass over the promised address. As for asking Harlan Garrett, Murdoch decided it would only complicate matters. If he was a close relative, and now he sincerely hoped he was not, it could remove any reason for calling upon her. Her uncle, or—God forbid— her father, would certainly be able to give the assurances of well-being that Murdoch would supposedly be seeking. He did not want to lose the only excuse he had for contacting her.

Checking his grandfather's watch as he reached the pavement, Murdoch was surprised to find it still only 11 o'clock. The inquisition had seemed much longer. Miss Garrett lived in Beacon Hill, within ten minutes' walk of where he now stood. There was no time like the present. Murdoch headed in that direction.

Catherine Garrett's home was an imposing four-storied brick and stone residence in Louisburg Square, one of the best addresses in Boston. Impressed by its grand oak door, black shutters, wrought-iron balustrades and white stone portico, Murdoch was still determined. Bravely lifting the iron door knocker, he rapped loudly. A uniformed butler opened the door and Murdoch stepped into a spacious, tiled reception area.

"Would Miss Garrett— Miss Catherine Garrett— be at home?"

"Who shall I say is calling, sir?" asked the butler.

Having given his name, Murdoch was asked to wait while the butler enquired whether Miss Garrett was at home to visitors that morning. He could hear someone playing the piano, and tried to catch the tune as he watched the servant ascend a sweeping staircase to the first landing. The butler tapped on the door at the top of the stairs and entered. The music ceased.

Without warning the front door opened and in strode Harlan Garrett. Murdoch stood up immediately. Garrett stopped dead in his tracks.

"Mr Lancer! What are you doing in my house?"

"I beg your pardon, sir. I didn't realise it was your house," Murdoch replied with as much composure as he could muster. "I came to enquire after the health of Miss Catherine Garrett. We met briefly the day before yesterday. She tripped."

"Miss Garrett is pleased to receive the young gentleman, sir," the butler said approaching from the stairs.

There was the sound of movement from above. Murdoch looked towards the landing, but he could only see a servant girl dusting an ornate picture frame. Harlan Garrett followed his gaze and recalled his attention abruptly.

"My daughter did not mention such an incident, and I can assure you she is in perfect health. She is not, I am afraid, receiving visitors." Garrett glared at his butler. Putting his arm out, he ushered Murdoch towards the door. "I trust you will understand me, Mr Lancer, when I say that my daughter will not be accepting visits from any young man that I have not first approved, and that having considered your business proposal, I shall not be investing. I do not expect there will be any need for you to call at my house again. Good day, Mr Lancer."

Evicted and despondent, Murdoch made his way out of the square and back down Mount Vernon Street. He was about to turn into Walnut Street when he heard running footsteps behind him. It was the Garrett's housemaid.

"Begging your pardon, sir, I have a message from my mistress," she panted, holding a stitch in her side. "The Athenaeum, sir, on Pearl Street—Miss McIntyre and my mistress always exchange their books there on a Monday afternoon."

The girl then scurried away before Murdoch could utter a word.


	7. From H to H Chap7 A Novel Encounter

From Highlands to Homecoming by Margaret P.

_(My thanks to betas, Terri Derr and Anna Orr, for their patience and invaluable advice.)_

Chapter Seven: A Novel Encounter (Words: 1,405)

There never was a longer weekend. Not even visiting his shipboard friend, Ben Telford, in Roxbury could divert Murdoch's thoughts entirely from Catherine Garrett and the memory of her grey-blue eyes.

"Oh, you've got it bad!" Ben chortled after Murdoch had unconsciously brought the conversation back to Miss Garrett for the third time. "I'd be more worried about losing her father as an investor if I were you."

"Och, he was always a last resort, just from what others had told me, but you're right, I need to keep my mind on other things. Tell me about your first week in America."

"Not nearly as exciting as yours, but I've got myself a job as overseer in a boot factory about a mile from here. Convinced them that with my experience in my father's workshops, I could handle a bit more responsibility despite my age. Pays a dollar a day more than working the tools alone."

"Good for you. You'll have that nest egg in no time. Maybe I'll see you in California one day."

Murdoch enjoyed the walk to and from Roxbury. After a week of paved streets and city buildings, it was refreshing to see and smell countryside again. His thoughts were never far from Monday afternoon however.

On Monday morning Murdoch attended to a few business matters, and then made his way to the Athenaeum. Although his head told him he was far too early, he entered the building soon after 12 o'clock.

Murdoch occupied himself by looking through _The Liberator_ and _Boston Post_ in the reading room. Every twenty minutes or so, he rose from the comfort of his turned-wood chair and wandered through the other areas, hoping to find the two young ladies. He was surprised to discover that there was an art gallery and lecture hall as well as the library, and he spent some time examining a fine painting of two war ships battling in open seas. Returning downstairs he finally spotted Miss Garrett and Miss McIntyre perusing the recent-returns shelf.

"Miss Garrett, Miss McIntyre, how fortunate to meet you here."

"Why, Mr Lancer, what a surprise," Miss Garrett responded, more loudly than was strictly necessary for the benefit of the patrons nearby. She smiled mischievously up at Murdoch.

The threesome moved towards shelves where there were fewer people to overhear them.

"I must apologise for the other day, sir," Miss Garrett began in a low voice. "I love my father, but he does tend to be rather over-protective of me."

"He treats you like one of his commodities, you mean." Miss McIntyre selected a book from the shelf and opened it to the first page. "You may as well know, Mr Lancer, that Miss Garrett is destined to marry high. Nothing short of a Lowell will satisfy her father's aspirations. What Catherine herself thinks, doesn't appear to matter."

"Oh Beth, that is not fair. He just wants the best for me. I admit I would like more freedom, but since mother died, I'm all he's got. I think he's afraid of losing me."

"I think he's afraid of losing more money and high connections should you become attached to a young man of lesser financial and social worth," disagreed her friend. Returning the book to the shelf, she looked Murdoch up and down with same good-humoured rudeness, she had just demonstrated towards her friend. "You are Scottish, I believe, Mr Lancer—newly arrived?"

"I am, ma'am. From Inverness."

"Lancer is not a name I associate with Scotland—or anywhere for that matter," she added with a puzzled look.

"No, ma'am, it's not common. It's from a French name, 'Lancret'. My great grandfather, Jean Lancret, came to Scotland in support of Charles Stuart in '45. He was killed at Culloden. My great grandmother was already with child. She returned to her family in Inverness after the battle."

"Oh, how sad!" exclaimed Miss Garrett. "How-ever did she manage?"

"I don't expect it was easy, but her father was reasonably well-off, a tacksman—that's a landholder related to the laird who doesn't farm himself but lives off his rents. Lancret left some gold too. That was used to buy land for their son when he came of age."

"But the name, Mr Lancer. Why has it changed?" Miss McIntyre was both inquisitive and persistent.

"My father wrote in our family bible that my great grandmother dropped the t in the aftermath of the Rising. Jacobite sympathisers were hunted down by the English, and a French name would have drawn attention. My father changed to the L-A-N-C-E-R spelling and pronunciation when he married. I think he simply got tired of people misspelling his name and pronouncing it in different ways. His older brother came here to America before then though. Likely his branch still goes by L-A-N-C-R-E."

"So you have family here, Mr Lancer. Where do they live?" Miss Garrett enquired with interest.

"I don't actually know. Uncle Willie wasn't the best at keeping in touch. We know he married the daughter of a German farmer somewhere near New York and moved west, but no one ever heard where they settled."

The conversation continued on the subject of family for a little while longer, and then turned to books. Murdoch responded with good humour to all the ladies' questions, giving a full account of his varied tastes. Then remembering she had promised to bring back a particular book for her mother, Beth excused herself and went in search of it. Murdoch and Miss Garrett were left alone, smiling self-consciously at each other.

"And what do you like to read, Miss Garrett?" Murdoch asked.

"Oh, you will find me very shallow, Mr Lancer. I admit I am not one for histories or essays. I enjoy novels, short stories and poetry most. I share your liking for Charles Dickens and I am not averse to Shakespeare, but you are welcome to the Classics with all their wars and monsters, and I prefer to avoid any writer who lectures me on my behaviour or morals."

Murdoch laughed at this. "I can't imagine you need lessons on morals, Miss Garrett. I agree there are some rather tedious preachers writing at the moment. I have a book of poems by your Mr Longfellow, however, that is much more entertaining. It proved very popular on my voyage over. Do you enjoy his verse?"

"I do, very much," answered Miss Garrett. "I also have an interest in women writers. I am particularly fond of the poems of Elizabeth Barrett Browning and Cynthia Taggart."

"I expect there are a number of American writers I am unfamiliar with. Cynthia Taggart is American?"

"Yes," replied Miss Garrett. "I suspect, though, you would enjoy short stories like _The Legend of Sleepy Hollow _or _Rip Van Winkle_ by Washington Irving more than Miss Taggart's poetry."

By the time Miss McIntyre returned carrying several books, their conversation had moved on to California and Murdoch's aspirations for the future. Murdoch had the pleasure of noting a flicker of disappointment on Miss Garrett's face when he revealed he would be sailing for California in a few weeks' time and then a look of relief when he disclosed the need to return to Boston some months later to finalise business.

Miss McIntyre reminded Miss Garrett that she needed to choose some books of her own. All too quickly their time at the Athenaeum had come to a close. It had been so enjoyable, however, that neither young person wanted to part without making arrangements to meet again. Murdoch could tell Miss Garrett regretted deeply the need to deceive her father, but as she was certain Mr Garrett would not approve her seeing him, he was pleased she was not above a little subterfuge. Her friend seemed wholly in support of him, and with her help arranging to see each other again would be so much easier.

"I believe, if the weather is fine, Miss McIntyre and I will be taking the air on the Common tomorrow afternoon," Miss Garrett mentioned quietly as they left the Athenaeum. "I do so love watching the tadpoles at this time of year."

In full view of Boston society the three conspirators parted company more formally. If word got back to Harlan Garrett that they had met, Miss Garrett could pretend it was a casual meeting and Murdoch had merely enquired after her health. The only thing that could belie the claim was the sparkle in two sets of blue eyes.


	8. From H to H Chap8 Common Ground

From Highlands to Homecoming by Margaret P.

_(My thanks to betas, Terri Derr and Anna Orr, for their patience and invaluable advice.)_

Chapter Eight: Common Ground (Words: 1,554)

"Frog Pond, of course," Jim Harper replied. "How do you think it got its name? It's full of tadpoles in the spring. Why do you ask?"

Helping himself to strawberry jam, Murdoch made light of meeting 'someone' on the Common that afternoon. "I didn't realise at the time how big the Common was, but I recall they said they wanted to see the tadpoles."

Jim looked at him suspiciously, but Rose picked that moment to lay scrambled eggs and bacon before them both so he said no more.

Frog Pond was more like a small lake than a pond, and sure enough Murdoch spied tadpoles wiggling their way through the reeds at the water's edge. He was peering at one in particular that was half way to transforming into a frog, when Miss Garrett and Miss McIntyre joined him carrying a rug and a picnic basket.

"There is a pleasant, private spot further along," Miss Garrett told him, pointing towards some wild cherry trees. "We often spread out the rug and read or draw on a sunny day." Murdoch noticed that both girls had brought sketchpads with them as well as novels.

Arranging the rug so that they could enjoy sun and shade, they sat down to savour the contents of the small hamper.

"What has Mrs Pearson given us?" asked Miss McIntyre, rooting about. "Ooh, her homemade lemonade, yum—devilled eggs, tongue sandwiches and apple pie. What can I tempt you with, Mr Lancer?"

Murdoch accepted a sandwich and a glass of lemonade. It really was delicious.

"My compliments to Mrs Pearson. That is the best lemonade I've ever tasted."

"Yes, the Garrett's are very fortunate with their cook," Miss McIntyre declared. "I've suggested she might like to jump ship and come and work for the McIntyre family instead, but she won't abandon Mr Garrett. She must be the only person who really likes your father, Catherine. I can't understand it."

"Take no notice of her, Mr Lancer," Miss Garrett laughed. "But it is true my father is very fond of a good meal and so frequently praises Mrs Pearson that she thankfully would never dream of leaving us."

"I hope, Miss Garrett, I am not putting you in an awkward situation with your father meeting like this?" Murdoch gazed at his feet and held his breath for her answer.

"Unfortunately, I would do very little that I truly enjoy if I confined myself to what Father wants," Miss Garrett sighed. "He would have me always the lady, taking tea in the best parlours and discussing only dresses and balls with the sisters and mothers of Boston's most eligible bachelors. It's not that I don't enjoy society, Mr Lancer, but sometimes I feel trapped, and Boston's most eligible bachelors seem mostly arrogant or insipid. Besides I have this outrageous friend who persists in leading me astray."

"Well, of course I forced her to attend my aunt's luncheon for Miss Ward last week to hear her thoughts on slavery—that is where we were going when we first met you; and without doubt, I forced her to deceive her father today. I am a very bad friend."

"I think perhaps you are a very good friend, Miss McIntyre. I for one am very grateful to you," Murdoch acknowledged.

"Father changed when Mama died." Miss Garrett tried to justify her father's unfriendly behaviour. "He doted on her, and when he buried her, he buried himself in his work. I was only fifteen. I didn't know how to console him when I was so forlorn myself. Now I fear it is too late. He blames God for taking her from him, I think, and now selfishly guards what is his, including me. He was never a demonstrative man, always prone to seeing things in terms of profit and loss, but I think my mother instilled a balance in his life. I don't know how to explain it, but the laughter reached his eyes when Mama was alive."

Miss Garrett looked sad and bemused. Murdoch said the first thing to enter his head to distract her. "Your father would not have approved you attending a talk about slavery. He is not an abolitionist then?"

"Like many, Father does not approve of women speaking publicly and Miss Ward is known to do so. She would be considered a bad influence. My father is anti-slavery, but more from an economic standpoint than a moral one. He believes slavery gives the South unfair economic advantage."

"And that is one point upon which our fathers would agree, but I do not want to talk about them." Miss McIntyre started putting the leftovers back into the hamper. "I'm going to read my book. Why don't you two go down to the water and feed the last of these sandwiches to the ducks?"

Murdoch helped Miss Garrett to her feet and they strolled down to the water's edge. Standing in the shade of a blossom tree they threw pieces of bread to a family of mallards.

"You must be tired of water after so long at sea, Mr Lancer," declared Miss Garrett. "I can't imagine spending so long confined. What on earth did you do to pass the time?"

"As you might imagine, we read and talked, played games and made music."

"I love music and games as well. What kind of games did you play—card games?"

"Yes, and board games like chess, and we told or read each other stories or posed riddles— whatever came to mind really."

"Oh riddles! I do so enjoy riddles, though I am not very good at them," Miss Garrett confessed. "Tell me a riddle, Mr Lancer—one that you shared with your fellow passengers on the voyage to Boston."

Casting his thoughts back, Murdoch smiled as the breeze brought a shower of blossom down upon them and he picked a petal from Miss Garrett's hair. "I think I know the very one, but it's designed to be sung. You must make allowances for me, Miss Garrett. I am not an experienced singer."

"I am sure you sing beautifully, Mr Lancer. I am eager to hear you."

Grinning Murdoch began to sing in a rich baritone voice:

_Come a riddle, come a riddle, come a rote, tote, tote,_

_A wee, wee man in a red, red coat._

_A stick in his hand,_

_And a stone in his throat,_

_Come a riddle, come a riddle, come a rote, tote, tote._

"Oh, how marvellous," cried Miss Garrett, clapping her hands with glee. "You were teasing me, Mr Lancer. You sing very well. Now let me see, the riddle. Can I make it out. 'Come a riddle' and so on is just an introduction, I think." She looked at Murdoch for confirmation and then went on. "Then we have a wee man in a red coat, so something small and red?"

"You're doing well," Murdoch encouraged.

"A stick in his hand and a stone in his throat. What is small and red with a stick and a stone? This is harder than I thought. Oh, what can it be?"

"Can't you guess?" Murdoch said raising his eyes to the tree above.

"A cherry! That's it, isn't it, Mr Lancer?" Miss Garrett exclaimed, grabbing his arm in her excitement. "The answer is a cherry; it's small and red and has both a stick and a stone. I am right, aren't I?"

"You most certainly are, Miss Garrett," Murdoch laughed, relishing her delight.

"I think it is time you called me Catherine, Mr Lancer. I really do. We can't go on being so formal when we are alone in each other's company."

"I am honoured—Catherine. And you must call me Murdoch."

"I suspect—Murdoch—that we are behaving very indecorously, but I do so want to know you better before you leave for California. I would have you stay in Boston much longer, but I know you are eager to go. You will definitely be coming back, won't you?"

"I will need to come back briefly at some point, but I will also need to stay several months before doing so, if things go as planned," Murdoch admitted. "We must make the most of the few weeks we have left and see where they take us."

A plan was soon hatched between them whereby they might meet almost every week day. Weekends alas would be too difficult as Harlan Garrett generally spent time with his daughter then. Evenings too were usually taken up with engagements or the theatre. The mornings were reserved for visiting or waiting at home to be visited by other society ladies, but Catherine's afternoons were largely her own now she was of age. Murdoch would schedule any business he had in the mornings, so the afternoons would be theirs to do with as they pleased. Garrett was so used to his daughter spending time with the forthright Miss McIntyre that, as long as Catherine was in her company, he would have no cause for alarm or suspicion. The Athenaeum, its art gallery or library, would be wet-weather retreats, and when the sun shone the Common was the perfect meeting place. Beth happily agreed to act as chaperone and look out as circumstances required, and the two young people parted with high hopes for the weeks ahead.

Notes:

I did not make up the _Come a Riddle_ song. My grandfather sang it to my mother as a child, she sang it to my brothers and me, and yes, I sang it to my girls when they were young as well. Mum thought it was an old Music Hall song from the early 1900s, but it could be older. As its words do not date, I decided to use it for this story. The lyrics in the story are as it is sung by my family. There are variations. If you are interested, an old lady sings a version with the same tune on Utube at: watch?v=e2PIGJQKolM


	9. From H to H Chap9 Boston Times

From Highlands to Homecoming by Margaret P.

Chapter Nine: Boston Times (Words: 1,533)

Murdoch was beginning to worry. He had not heard anything from the remaining potential investors. A message finally arrived on Friday morning inviting him to meet with James McIntyre at 11 o'clock on Monday. The arrangement had been that Edgar Harraway and George Muller would respond to the lawyer, so that he could review any conditions they made before Murdoch considered them. Murdoch had told McIntyre not to expect anything from Harlan Garrett, but he had not explained why.

"I actually heard from Harraway last Monday. He declined to back you." McIntyre pushed Harraway's missive across the desk.

"But he seemed interested. Why did he change his mind—and so quickly?"

"I'll get to that. I heard from Muller on Wednesday. He's willing to accept your proposal without any extra conditions at all."

"Really? Well, that's excellent."

"Yes, but equally strange. I didn't get in touch with you earlier, because I wanted to dig a little." The lawyer stood up from his desk and went to the sideboard where he kept a decanter and glasses. "Whiskey, Mr Lancer?"

"Yes, thank you. I think I need one at the moment. What did you find out?"

"You are seeing rather a lot of my daughter and her friend, Miss Garrett."

Murdoch, taken by surprise, looked at his feet in embarrassment. "Well, yes sir, but I assure you it's all very respectable. I wouldn't dream of compromising either lady's reputation." He met Beth's father's eyes and hoped he looked sincere.

"Beth is perfectly capable of raising eyebrows without your help. My fault entirely. I've allowed her too much independence," replied her father, with a mixture of pride and despair in his voice. "Miss Garrett is a different story however, and my sources tell me, it is Miss Garrett you are interested in."

"Yes sir," Murdoch admitted. "But what has this got to do with Edgar Harraway and George Muller?"

"Their spies tell them the same thing, or at least George Muller's spies do. Edgar Harraway was scared off by Harlan Garrett. After some incident at his house between you, Garrett sought out both gentlemen and talked you down as only Harlan Garrett can do. Harraway listened. Muller asked himself why Garrett was so bothered and investigated. There is no love lost between Garrett and Muller. Once George Muller determined that it was a personal matter that had set you at odds with old Harlan, he was even more interested in backing you than before."

"Dear God, does Harlan Garrett know I am seeing his daughter?" Murdoch was now worried for Catherine. The fact that Muller was willing to finance his plan was a secondary consideration.

"No, I don't think so, but you are right to be worried. Harlan Garrett is a dangerous man to have as an enemy, Mr Lancer. More importantly, though, I like Catherine. She is a frequent guest in my house and I would not want to see her hurt by you or her father. Unless you are very serious in your intentions, I would ask you to break it off now, before he finds out."

"We have only known each other a week, sir, but I can't. She is the most wonderful, beautiful … I just can't imagine …" Murdoch bowed his head in confusion. How could he explain, how he felt? How she felt too—because she did feel the same way. He knew it. To feel that strongly about each other when they had only recently met was not reasonable, and yet the only thing stopping him asking her to marry him immediately was his planned expedition to California. If all went well, he knew he would ask her upon his return.

"I see. Well, we will deal with whatever we have to deal with, when the time comes. You have the promise of backing on your own terms so I suggest we accept, subject to the land purchase proceeding. I will send a letter of acceptance and draw up the contracts ready for your signatures upon your return from California. You'd best be on your way and get something for your lunch. Beth mentioned at breakfast that she and Miss Garrett were going to Dock Square today. You'll need all your strength if you are escorting them on a shopping expedition."

Three weeks passed far too quickly. Murdoch's mornings were filled with finalising paperwork and arrangements, preparations to stay in California if all went as planned. With Beth McIntyre's help, his afternoons were devoted to Catherine.

He wrote letters to his family telling them of his experiences so far, his good fortune in finding land and an investor and his up-coming voyage. And he wrote of Catherine: _She is about the same height as Maggie with bonnie ash-blond hair and grey-blue eyes. I know you would like her_.

On the Sunday before he left, Murdoch dined with his friend Ben in Roxbury and bade him farewell. "I probably won't see you again until early next year, if all goes to plan. If you abandon Boston before then, leave a forwarding address at my bank."

Murdoch was already receiving letters care of the bank. Douglas Muir had promised to forward any arriving for him in his absence. He would dispatch them whenever a vessel left intending a reasonably direct passage to Monterey or Yerba Buena. With luck Murdoch would receive mail every few months during his initial sojourn in California.

Standing under the wild cherry tree once again Murdoch and Catherine said very little at their final rendezvous but there was by then no need for words. The strength of their feelings was conveyed by look and touch. Catherine took a small package from her pocket. "It was taken on my twenty-first birthday."

The daguerreotype was exceptionally detailed, though it made her hair look darker than it really was. Murdoch could not see the colour of her eyes nor appreciate the full beauty of her low-cut gown, but she posed tall and slender against a plain backdrop. Her long, luxuriant hair tumbled down her back and across her bare shoulders. There was the hint of a smile on her lips, and he could tell she had been happy on that day. He wished he had arrived a few weeks sooner so he could have shared it with her, so that they could have had more time together before being forced to part.

In exchange he handed her a similar package. She undid the brown paper to find the sketch Beth had made of Murdoch three days earlier. Catherine had exclaimed over her friend's ability to take his likeness so precisely. Murdoch had begged the sketch from Beth, who had agreed but only after she had added some colour. It really was very well done. He had had it framed in bird's eye maple. "Our minds think alike."

"I'll miss you so much," Catherine whispered, finally giving way to her tears. "I'll write every week."

Murdoch took Catherine in his arms and wiped away her tears—then he kissed her. It was a long, slow, gentle kiss and the young lovers melted into each other as though they were one. "I must go now, but I will be back. Wait for me. If all goes well, you know what I will ask." Kissing her gently on the forehead, he turned and walked away, not daring to look back.

That night Murdoch drowned his sorrows with Jim Harper and the other gentlemen of Mrs Merriweather's boarding establishment. Murdoch knew he had an early start in the morning and should not be out late, but his friends were persistent and he needed something to take his mind off Catherine. Until that night, he had revealed very little to his fellow boarders about the young woman, who had captured his attention. By the end of the evening, however, he had told Jim almost everything.

After pouring Murdoch through the back entrance of the boarding house, Jim helped him to his room. Rose bolted the scullery door behind them and stole back to her bedroom off the kitchen. Beckinsale and Thompson stood guard on the landings in case the lady of the house should wake.

"Come on now, Murdo, quietly does it," panted Harper, staggering under the weight of his friend. "Don't want to wake Mrs M."

"Shush! Must not wake Tilly," Murdoch slurred. "Verra nice woman is Mrs Merri…Merri…feather. I like her."

"Well, she won't like you—or let you back here—if she sees you in this state. Keep it down."

Eventually with Beckinsale's and Thompson's help, Jim got Murdoch onto his bed just after midnight. He was asleep within seconds.

The _Mary Ann_ weighed anchor and sailed out of Boston harbour on the morning tide. A very hung-over Murdoch Lancer and the land agent, Alfred Burke, stood by the rail watching the city of Boston fade into the distance. They would share a cabin for the journey. The clipper would dock again briefly in New York that evening, and then it would be non-stop to their destination on the Isthmus of Panama. All being well they would reach Chagres within ten days. The next stage of Murdoch's great adventure had begun.


	10. From H to H Chap10 Letters to Catherine

From Highlands to Homecoming by Margaret P.

Chapter Ten: Letters to Catherine (Words: 2,586)

_My Dearest Catherine,_

_We arrived safely in New York last night._

The _Mary Ann_ manoeuvred into a mooring between a frigate and a barque at dusk. The voyage from Boston had been uneventful except for the splitting headache, which reminded Murdoch relentlessly of the night before.

"I will never drink that much again!" he assured an amused Alfred Burke as they retired to their cabin.

_Our accommodation on the 'Mary Ann' is definitely a step up from steerage on the 'Duchess of Argyle', but it still took some ingenuity to sleep comfortably in my bunk. I felt a bit like a concertina. Unfortunately Burke snores—loudly, but I did eventually fall asleep. _

_We have no time to go any further afield than the dockyards this morning, but we will stretch our legs ashore while more passengers board. Burke wants to find a boy to deliver some business letters._

The clipper was devoted mainly to cargo, but there were a small number of cabins for passengers. When the _Mary Ann_ set sail shortly after 10 o'clock, all twelve berths were occupied. Passengers could socialise in a communal area below decks, and Murdoch soon got to know most of his companions. The majority were heading for South America, but Spaniards, Señor and Señora Alvarez, were returning to Los Angeles in California. Although Murdoch's Spanish was limited, he tried hard to converse with them.

_Se__ñ__or Alvarez is some sort of government official. I had hoped he and his wife would tell me more about California, but they are not very friendly. Burke speaks Spanish well, and he says they do not like Americans or Scotsmen. I can only hope that is not the prevailing attitude in my new homeland. _

The clipper made fast passage, but still ocean-weary from his trans-Atlantic trip, the voyage held little attraction for Murdoch. He practised his Spanish, wrote to Catherine and his family, and read. Catherine had lent him the book of short stories, she had recommended at their first meeting at the Athenaeum.

_You were right; I did enjoy 'Rip Van Winkle'. _

Burke proved to be something of an artist. He set up an easel on the main deck and painted with water colours. "I'll give you one of my seascapes if you proceed with the purchase."

"Muchas gracias," replied Murdoch. "Quiero pintar mi pared."

"You want to paint your wall?" Burke lowered his brush from the canvas and thought for a moment. "I think you mean 'Me gustaria una pintura de la pared'. You want a painting for your wall."

Murdoch shook his head and laughed. "Well, I got one word right."

He checked the index of _A Compendium of the Spanish Language _and began to study the pages related to mealtime conversation.

_This evening we dined with the captain and three other passengers, Mr and Mrs Ballantyne and their daughter, Lavinia. The Ballantynes are sailing to Rio de Janeiro. Mr Ballantyne is an engineer, and he is going to help with the construction of a new bridge. I found him very interesting, but unfortunately I did not enjoy Miss Ballantyne quite so much. She is a rather tiresome girl of fifteen, and she interrupted my conversation with her father several times for no apparent reason._

"The iron has been hot blasted in Shropshire and shipped out for the purpose."

"Indeed, sir, and it will be the first bridge of its kind in Brazil?"

"If I am to endure such an uncivilised city as Rio for your benefit, Papa, you should buy me a lapdog to keep me company. Mama agrees. A little pug would be divine. Mr Lancer, you must have seen pugs on your travels. Don't you just adore their little squashed faces?"

Murdoch kept his reply to Miss Ballantyne as short as politeness allowed. He tried to steer the conversation back to bridges and other things of more interest to him than pampered pets, but Miss Ballantyne persisted. She seemed determined to be the centre of attention throughout the entire evening.

A few days later, the _Mary Ann_ experienced rough seas.

_For all the misery of steerage on the 'Duchess', I never had to hold the bowl while a spoilt young lady emptied her last meal into it. How I got into such a predicament, I still do not know. One minute I was walking past the family and the next, Mr Ballantyne was thrusting the bowl into my arms, declaring he had to attend to an urgent matter. Her mother held her hair back and I was obliged to hold the bowl—for over an hour. At first I naively expected her father to return, but the truth eventually dawned. I only escaped when Miss Ballantyne ran dry. It was not funny, so don't you dare laugh!_

Worse was yet to come, though Murdoch chose not to write about it to Catherine. After the bowl experience, Miss Ballantyne latched onto Murdoch like he was her own personal knight in shining armour. Wherever he went, she would appear. Whatever he said, she would sigh and gaze at him doe-eyed. Burke and her father thought it was hilarious. Murdoch could not wait to reach Chagres and be rid of her.

_A small pod of dolphins joined the 'Mary Ann' as we approached the Isthmus of Panama. They dived below the hull, appearing starboard and aft, racing each other and us into harbour. One animal rose up on its tail above the water, bidding the ship farewell in a high-pitched bark. I have read stories about dolphins rescuing shipwrecked seamen. Now I have witnessed their antics, I believe those tales. They really are the most amazing creatures._

Chagres was a small port on the Isthmus of Panama comprising only a few buildings of a purely serviceable nature. Bidding farewell to the Ballantynes and most of their fellow passengers, Murdoch and Burke took a room for the night at the tavern. Their journey by river boat and mule the next day would begin from outside its doors. Before turning in for the night, Murdoch delivered his first letters into the care of the captain of the _Liberty. _The barque had followed the _Mary Ann_ into the bay, and it would be sailing northward to Boston on the morning tide.

Six travellers began the four day crossing of the isthmus with their guides soon after dawn: the Castilians from California, two Peruvian gentlemen, Burke and Murdoch.

_How wonderful and how terrible the journey turned out to be. Mosquitoes plagued us from the start. No matter how hard I tried to cover up, they still found their way to my skin. Strangely, though, our guides didn't seem to get bitten at all._

"Fresh blood," declared Burke knowledgably, slapping an insect that dared to dine on his cheek. A smear of blood marked the spot. "I've made this crossing several times, and it's always the same. They go for the visitors and leave the locals largely alone."

The group took cayucas as far as Cruces, and then mounted mules to follow the old Spanish trail to Panama. They made slow progress as the road had fallen into disrepair.

_Clay once covered the river stones, but that has long since worn away leaving them exposed. Even the most sure-footed of our mules found them difficult to navigate. Mules also proved inconveniently low to the ground for a man of my stature. I walked whenever practical. _

The heat was oppressive. Even when they were being poled up river, there was no respite. The waterway was too full of dangers to risk dangling feet or hands into its coolness. Alligators and snakes slithered through the murky shallows and disappeared to suddenly reappear in deep water, often with lethal results for some poor fish or bird.

Murdoch wrote less about the dangers, however, than the beauty in his letters to Catherine.

_Despite the discomfort there was much to enjoy. I have never seen such jungle, the lushness of the trees and flowers, the variety of insects and birds. Our trail traversed ravines and waterways. I saw beasts that I have only ever seen in books before. _

Within a few days of their arrival in Panama, the _Artemis_ gave Murdoch and Burke direct passage to Monterey. Señor and Señora Alvarez remained behind as the brig's captain refused to put in at Los Angeles just for their benefit. Though for different reasons, Murdoch was as pleased to part with their company as he had been to say goodbye to Miss Ballantyne.

_The __Se__ñ__ora__ walked about as though she had a permanent bad smell beneath her nose. I think it was me. For some reason she seemed to despise me even more than Burke. I am certain she understood a little English, but she never deigned to speak it. Her husband would occasionally say something to us in Spanish, but she would only ever whisper to him behind our backs. No doubt Los Angeles is a pleasant place, but she has made me glad that I am heading further north._

Murdoch discovered the _Artemis's_ captain had sailed the Pacific coast for more than ten years, and he knew a lot about Californian ports and commerce. He confirmed what Murdoch had learned from his research; vessels still had to pay duties at Monterey before plying their trade along the coast of California.

"I have read as much as I can about this part of the world, Captain, and Mexico seems determined to limit trade through high tariffs."

"There are ways around the rules," Captain Jessop assured him as he watched a sailor trim the mainsail. "Don't you worry, Mr Lancer, the likes of the Hudson Bay Company and several Boston-based firms make healthy profits. There is a definite market for cattle."

The _Artemis_ was scheduled to stay four days in Monterey to sell goods brought from America and pay its duties. Then the brig would continue north to Yerba Buena in the San Francisco Bay to fill its hull with hides and tallow.

_Burke sketches and paints his way up the Pacific coast, and patiently teaches me Spanish at the same time. His conversational Spanish is excellent due to his many visits to California. My Spanish improves slowly. I can tell you it is a lot easier learning from Burke than from some dry texts with only my schoolboy Latin to help me. Still, I worry I will struggle to make myself understood after we part company. I must take every opportunity to practise when we make shore._

The _Artemis_ finally dropped anchor in Monterey harbour mid-afternoon on June 11, 1842. Within the hour Murdoch stepped onto the wooded shore.

_California at last__! I will forever celebrate this day as the beginning of my new life._

_Burke took me directly to the home of Herman Richter, a surveyor, who acts as agent for G.W. Burke and Sons. His house is like others in the town, a neat whitewashed adobe cottage with a red-tiled roof. It lies within sight of the Presidio. _

_The Presidio is a small square fort with the Mexican flag flying from a pole at its heart. It is the centre of activity for the town. Soldiers and officials regularly come and go, and thanks to their convenient location, the Richters are among the first to learn of any new arrival. _

Herman Richter was not at home when the travellers knocked on the door, but his Mexican wife, made them welcome. She greeted Burke like a long lost brother and showed her guests to a comfortable room overlooking the bay. She sent one of the children to find her husband. By the time the two men had freshened up, Richter was settling himself into a chair under a nearby tree and pouring out drinks.

Richter had passed through the Estancia Talavera only five weeks before on his way to an on-going job further north.

_A new settler, John Sutter, is establishing a trading post, and he has employed __Richter to survey land recently granted by the Mexican government. That is interesting as Sutter has apparently only resided in California for two years and he has only been a citizen for one. What Richter tells me of the Estancia Talavera, however, is of more immediate concern. He says there are about a dozen vaqueros remaining with their families, and they take basic care of the hacienda and surrounding fields and cattle._

The Mexican and Indian workforce, however, did not in Richter's estimation exert themselves to any high degree of effort. "It would not surprise me if most were not being paid. They probably do a little work in exchange for being allowed to remain in their homes, but a new owner will need to attend to a lot of deferred maintenance."

While even a big ranch could survive during winter with a small workforce, Murdoch knew it needed many more workers and effective leadership to run efficiently between spring and fall. The Estancia Talavera had been rudderless for over eighteen months.

"The headman speaks only a little English, but he has been at the ranch for many years. He is loyal and hardworking, I am sure he will cooperate with a new owner."

Although there was no guarantee Murdoch would ultimately buy the San Joachin estate, he had decided during the voyage that he was committed to remaining in California, and it would make sense for him to apply for Mexican citizenship while still in Monterey. Two days after his arrival therefore, he swore allegiance to the Mexican flag.

_Once I produced my certificate of Catholic baptism, I was welcomed. The governor-general took my oath without hesitation_. _Citizenship is a means to an end, but I will abide by the laws of this land and defend its shores while this government defends the rights of those it governs. My citizenship still needs to be endorsed by central government to be absolute and that will not happen overnight, but what I have done today permits me to buy land in California._

That afternoon Burke and Richter had other business, so Murdoch ventured out on his own to complete the preparations they had begun together the day before. Richter had acquired horses for them, but they still needed supplies. Following the surveyor's directions those were soon purchased, and Murdoch spent the rest of his time exploring the town. Shouting, screeching and the flapping of wings drew his attention to a small crowd.

_I had heard cockfighting was a popular pastime in California. Two roosters tearing each other apart is not really my idea of entertainment, but to be sociable I pretended more enthusiasm than I felt._ _Betting was fierce and the battles bloody. I lost a few _real_ to the locals but was rewarded after the fighting with an invitation to join them at the cantina._ _I was able to practise my Spanish, and my new amigos introduced me to the local drink, tequila. Powerful stuff and not unpleasant, but I'll stick with beer and whiskey if given the choice._

Soon after dawn the next day, Murdoch and Burke rode towards the San Joachin Valley. The journey to the Estancia Talavera was expected to take about three days. Trying hard to keep his excitement and hope under control, he left behind letters, which Richter promised to deliver into the hands of the next captain sailing for Boston. Murdoch concluded his epistle to Catherine minutes before he and Burke mounted their horses.

_Si Dios quiere el viaje me llevará a casa._

_All my love_

_Murdoch_


	11. From H to H Chap11 Early Days

From Highlands to Homecoming by Margaret P.

Chapter Eleven: Early Days (Words: 2,471)

The deal was done. Various documents were signed by Murdoch and witnessed by the Estancia Talavera's foreman and Alfred Burke on the kitchen table. There was one copy of the sale and purchase agreement each for Murdoch, the land agents, Talavera, his lawyer, Murdoch's lawyer and his bank. Also among the papers was the release authorising the bank to transfer the money as soon as his lawyer confirmed everything was in order. Murdoch had seen Alfred Burke on his way north with the precious documents tucked safely away in his saddle bag. Burke would carry out the final legalities with the Mexican authorities upon his return to Monterey, and then seek passage back to Boston. Those last technicalities were still several weeks away as Burke had other business to attend to in Alta California, but for all intents and purposes the Estancia Talavera was no more. The ranch that spread out before Murdoch as he stood on the high road from Morro Coyo was now called Lancer.

Home! Murdoch had gazed over this land in silent certainty when Burke had stopped at the same place nearly two weeks earlier to point out various landmarks and extol their virtues.

"The ranch extends to those hills in the east, some of the hill country you can see north and south, all that grassland and beyond."

Early morning mist had clung to the gullies, not yet burnt off by the heat of the day. A river snaked its way across the vast valley of rolling fields backed by dark tree-covered hills. The river swelled to a small lake and then drained out of sight.

"The lake and river have never dried up. Some of the streams will do so during a hot summer, but you should always have water. You could even consider charging your neighbours in time of drought."

"Not something I'm likely to do. I would rather foster a relationship with my neighbours of mutual goodwill and assistance when needed—no strings."

To that end, Murdoch had insisted on visiting some of the neighbouring ranchos while Burke was still there to introduce him. He met Don Domingo Allende Ramirez to his north, Don Frederigo Caldera Palmero to the south and Don Jorge Marques Diego to the west. He found all three to be well-educated, intelligent men, but Californios and all that the term implied. They were privileged, owners of estates rather than cattlemen per se and naturally a little suspicious of him. They warmed slightly when Burke made it known that Murdoch was baptised Catholic as an infant in Scotland, and he was not just taking on the religion for convenience; and a little more when they ascertained that not only was he a cattleman, but also reasonably well-educated and gentleman-like. Murdoch had some experience dining and conversing with their British equivalents thanks to his laird's affable nature. He was reasonably confident he could maintain productive neighbourly relations.

Murdoch made a mental note to attend the occasional church service and to show some goodwill toward the local mission. Although the mission no longer controlled much land, the priests still wielded influence. The ranch would give him an excuse not to attend mass too often, but he had taken the precaution before leaving Scotland of accompanying his Auntie Morag to her church occasionally. Consequently he understood the format and meaning of the Catholic service. He suspected he actually understood a great deal more than his aunt given Father MacTavish had spoken entirely in Latin. It eased his conscience somewhat to learn that the essence of the religious message was not that much different from that of the Kirk.

"Did you know, Burke, that before Catholics take communion, they must first confess their sins? I was surprised to find that it is acceptable not to go to confession with any regularity. My Uncle Alex declared he hadn't taken communion for a whole year for that reason, and the worst he got was a scowl or three from my aunt and the occasional polite reminder from the priest."

Murdoch reasoned that this interesting fact would enable him to avoid taking communion without undue comment. With luck he would never need to divulge that he had not been confirmed. As transubstantiation was the most contentious difference between the Catholic and Protestant churches, he argued his Protestant God would not look too critically upon him for crossing the threshold if he did not take communion—and what his mother did not know would not hurt her.

Murdoch and Burke had ridden widely over the Estancia Talavera during the previous ten days, escorted by José Ramos, the foreman. Ramos had more English than Richter had believed. Recent contact with Americans had increased his vocabulary, so that he and Murdoch were usually able to understand each other without Burke's help. Ramos had acted as general caretaker for the estate since the owner had returned to Spain to claim an unexpected inheritance. When faced with a choice, Don Talavera had abandoned the challenges of a rancho in the New World in favour of the wealth and comfort of a centuries-old estate in central Spain.

Before Don Talavera had left, however, he had constructed a substantial multi-storied hacienda, which now nestled at the end of a well-formed road in the southern foothills.

"It was a condition of the government grant to construct a residential dwelling on the land within the first year," Burke explained. "It didn't have to be as grand, but Don Talavera has always been wealthy and he was not going to be outdone by his neighbours."

Upon closer inspection Murdoch had discovered most of the main house fully completed with timber or terracotta tiled floors in the living and bedrooms and flagstones in the kitchen, but some rooms upstairs, the two wings and out-buildings were just shells. Outwardly they were part of an impressive adobe mansion with balconies, graceful arches, glazed lattice windows and clay tiles on the sloping rooftops. Inside some rooms still had dirt floors, and most had little decoration and no furniture or window dressings. The interior walls of several out-buildings, intended for offices and servant or guest accommodation, had still to be plastered. Like the rest of the ranch, they were a work in progress, and in a way Murdoch was pleased about that. He had comfortable living quarters in the main part of the house, and he would be able to clearly stamp his mark on the rest.

An alert was shouted from a roof top balcony as he neared the hacienda. Murdoch raised an arm in greeting as the wagons were pulled back from the entrance to let him through. "Hola! Ramos, quiero que."

The foreman followed Murdoch into the house and in a mixture of slow Spanish and English Murdoch gave his first instructions as owner. "I want those calves moved to an enclosure with some shade, and then I would like you to gather the men and their wives out by the corral. I want a few words and then we will divide the men into work crews and make a start."

"Si, Señor Lancer."

"I will need someone to cook and clean for me. Can you arrange that?" Murdoch lifted a dust cloth to reveal an ornate sofa. The owner and land agents had agreed that any prospective buyer should be accommodated at the hacienda while they were being shown the estate. Consequently, Murdoch and Burke had stayed in the main house, but they had not bothered too much with the furniture. They had only uncovered what they needed to use and they had been out on the ranch so much that they had needed very little. Most of the furniture in what was referred to as the 'gran sala', or 'great room', was still draped with cotton sheets. "She could start by straightening up in here."

"Estella, who cooked while Señor Burke was here, would be willing to continue, if you were happy with her work."

"Si, that will be fine, but I thought she had niños to look after?"

"Si, but they are old enough that she can leave them to play nearby and she would welcome the extra money."

"In that case, please tell Estella I would like breakfast at about 8 o'clock, after I've got everyone organised for the day. If she makes dinner for 6 o'clock, she can leave it in the oven to keep warm if I'm late in, and go home to her family. I'll fend for myself during the day, and she can do the other housework as suits her. Is there no school for the older children?"

"Father Ruben runs a school at the mission, but that is three miles. They do not always attend."

"They do now. I am a great believer in education. I would like the children of this ranch to have the opportunities that education brings. Please get someone to take them in a wagon each morning. It can pick them up as well if there is a man free, otherwise they will have to walk back."

An hour later, about twenty men and a dozen women, some with children, gathered by the corral.

"Buenos dias." With Ramos translating Murdoch continued. "I am the new owner. My name is Murdoch Lancer and this ranch is now the Estancia Lancer. I hope you will all stay and continue to call this place home. I am grateful to you for keeping the ranch going for the past year without an owner in residence. Your efforts and loyalty have impressed me greatly, and I would be proud to employ any one of you. With your help, my aim is to make Lancer the finest ranch in California. If you are willing, we start today. Gracias."

Ramos dismissed the women and called the men to come closer. At Murdoch's request he named the vaqueros one by one, and identified their skills. Murdoch acknowledged each man.

"Do you think you could make this brand?" Murdoch handed a drawing to a man said to have some skill at blacksmithing. Murdoch had designed the brand with Burke's help and the application to register it was among the documents Alfred Burke now carried in his saddle bag back to Monterey.

"Si, Patrón. The circle is easy. The 'L' is trickier, but I think I can make it."

Together Murdoch and Ramos divided the other men into crews and set them to their tasks. Murdoch had noted down the work that needed to be done as they had toured the ranch. In the evenings he had prioritised and planned.

"This crew is to go here," he ordered pointing at a map. "The stream is blocked with branches. I want it cleared today."

Two more crews were set to gathering strays out of the hills. He wanted to know how many cattle he was starting with and in what condition. He needed to get them branded.

"Those remaining can make a start on this list of repairs around here. Who can read?"

A lad of about seventeen stepped forward. "Cipriano, is that right?" Murdoch asked. "Well, you take the list and share the jobs out. Let Ramos know who is doing what. I expect them all finished by the end of the week."

Over the next few days, between checking on the crews, Murdoch and Ramos rode out in search of more vaqueros. The men who had stayed were mostly older men with families or disabled in some way, which meant it had been more difficult for them to up-root. Murdoch and Ramos visited Morro Coyo, a small, mainly Mexican town in the south and Green River, an even smaller but mainly American town to the west. They included the mission in their visit to Morro Coyo and returned with four Paiute Indians with cattle experience. In total they employed a dozen new men that first week, some of them the older sons of the hands who had stayed, but more importantly the word was out that Lancer ranch was hiring. Thereafter the men came to them.

The wranglers and gunhawks who found their way to Lancer over the next few months were a mixed bag of Indians, Mexicans and Americans. Most had some experience with cattle, and some were hired more for their abilities with a gun. Murdoch soon learned that there was no law in this part of California, except the unofficial law wielded by large landholders and he was now a large landholder. He needed to learn how to use firearms himself and he needed to employ at least a few men primarily for their skill with a gun.

During this time he also became aware that Ramos was less than the man he needed as a second in command. As a foreman Ramos was willing enough, but he was not a man to show initiative or leadership. Murdoch was not comfortable with the idea of leaving him in charge of the ranch when he returned to Boston, which he would need to do in the New Year. He did not want the ranch to regress to what it had been when he arrived.

Murdoch was giving serious thought to how he could solve this problem, when an American wrangler called Paul O'Brien rode up to the hacienda.

"I heard you were hiring, Mr Lancer. I have experience." O'Brien was Kansas-born, only a year or two older than Murdoch. He had been wrangling from Nevada to Texas. "I was trail boss for a couple of years around the borders and foreman for a ranch north of Denver for about eighteen months until earlier this year."

"Why did you leave?"

"Curiosity. Wanted to see California. Wagon train headed for Utah needed a guide, so thought I may as well get paid for part of the journey. Got references." O'Brien handed Murdoch a battered leather wallet.

"Can you read and write?"

"Well enough."

"Know any Spanish?"

"No problem. Spent five years around the borders. Speak some Indian too—Apache mostly but a little Paiute."

Murdoch took O'Brien on as another foreman, dividing the responsibilities between him and Ramos. O'Brien's references were good. He had held down two foreman's jobs and had testimonials from his time as trail boss as well. He soon proved himself good with the men, and he worked in well with Ramos too. Surprisingly the older man did not seem to resent his presence. Murdoch got the impression that Ramos may have even been relieved to have O'Brien around. The new foreman was not a highly educated man, but he and Murdoch had shared interests in cattle, far off places and human nature. They got on well together, and a friendship soon developed. Within a few weeks Murdoch stopped worrying about who he would leave in charge when he went back east.


	12. From H to H Chap12 Season of Goodwill

From Highlands to Homecoming by Margaret P.

Chapter Twelve: The Season of Goodwill (Words: 2,885)

By December the Lancer ranch was into a new routine. Murdoch had learned how to use a lariat and a gun, and his ranch hands had learned there was a new order. In his letters to Catherine and his family in Scotland he described his experiences with an increasing sense of belonging.

The men from Lancer took part in two general round ups on neighbouring estancias during this time, gathering the cattle and horses, sorting them and branding the beasts with the mark of the ranch, to which they belonged.

_The locals call these events 'rodeos'. They usually last three days. I've not experienced anything like them before, but they have given me new respect for my neighbours as cattlemen and horsemen. _

"Your ways are certainly different from what I'm used to," Murdoch said to Don Caldera, "but I see they work well here. I'd be grateful if you'd teach me more. "

Appreciating his interest, the local dons grew to like and respect the young Scot. He was not like some foreigners, too arrogant or ignorant to ask advice. They began to offer suggestions unasked and listened to his ideas as well. The real cattlemen among them soon recognised his knowledge and abilities. As Murdoch had hoped, a relationship of mutual cooperation and benefit began to grow.

Two hundred bulls were slaughtered in Murdoch's first month as owner.

_We are processing their hides and tallow here on the ranch. The air buzzes with flies, and some days the stench of rendering fat is enough to turn your stomach. Drying racks cover the yard behind the hacienda. Some of the meat is hung or salted for the estate's own use, some is given away, but most we burn. There is currently no market for beef, but the ratio of bulls to cows has been allowed to get too high. I have no choice but to take drastic measures if I am to bring the stock under control. _

Wild horses were brought down from the hills and broken for use by his growing workforce. He was impressed by the horsemanship of the Mexicans. He could ride well enough, but his skill was nothing to the skill of several vaqueros he employed. Occasionally, usually on some kind of religious feast day, there would be races and betting, which Murdoch allowed to foster goodwill. As long as they worked hard when required he was wise enough not to begrudge his hands their leisure. He joined in too where his dignity as boss was not compromised.

"You can take bets, Diego, but it stops if there is any trouble. Do you understand me?"

"Si, Patrón. There will be no trouble."

Thankfully feed crops had been planted in the spring. All the women and children helped with the harvesting, which took on a festive air after the hard work was done. Murdoch was introduced to the delights of Mexican food and fandango, and his letters were filled with colour and excitement as well as labour and heat.

_I have developed a taste for __morisqueta__, a sausage and rice dish_, _but most Mexican dishes are still a little spicy for me._

The first and second batch of letters from back east arrived together via Don Allende, who had been to Monterey on business. Murdoch dismissed Estella early and took his meal on a tray to the fireside so he could read and eat at the same time. There were letters from Catherine, his sister and mother, as well as business letters. Tempting as it was to start with the former, he forced himself to deal with business first. He had received copies of the officially endorsed legal papers and deeds from Alfred Burke a few months earlier. The letters from his bank and lawyer merely confirmed that everything was in order and the land was now his. Some final bank documents needed to be signed in the spring when he returned to confirm arrangements with George Muller.

Untying the ribbons holding Catherine's letters, he sorted them into date order. The first had been written only a week after his departure from Boston and the most recent two months before.

_I miss you already_.

_Beth and I visited Frog Pond today. The blossom has all fallen and the ground was a carpet of petals. It looked quite beautiful._

_Dearest Murdoch, I received your letter from Chagres today. … The dolphins sound delightful, but I do not think I would have liked the Castilians._

_You will laugh, but I have persuaded Mrs Pearson to teach me how to cook. I have told a small white lie and begged her to keep our lessons secret from my father. So far I have learned how to soft and hard boil an egg and how to make biscuits. Beth says coming from Scotland you may call these scones, but I assure you in America they are called biscuits. Mine are at present edible. Jemima, my maid, declares that they are delicious, but I am determined not to be blinded by false compliments. Tomorrow Mrs Pearson says she will teach me how to make a white sauce._

_I think of you every day._

_I met your friend, Mr Harper, yesterday. He came to dine here with his employer, Mr Kirby, and several other gentlemen, who do business with my father. I was greatly alarmed when Mr Harper mentioned your name, though it was discreetly done. He approached me as I poured out the coffee, and told me he knew of our connection. He has kindly offered his services should I ever have the need._

_Today I received your first letter as owner. The Estancia Lancer—it sounds very romantic in Spanish. You describe it so vividly and I long to see it. _

_I lie in bed at night thinking of you and imagining the adventures you must be having. I expect you have little time during the day to think of me, but how lonely you must be at night when all is quiet and you are alone. Think of me then and know that I love you. _

_Mr Burke has just arrived back from California. He called on Beth's father yesterday with the legal papers related to your purchase. I am so glad everything went well. Beth says I must get this letter to the bank by tomorrow morning as a gentleman of Mr Burke's acquaintance is returning to California via Panama on the evening tide. He has agreed to deliver documents and letters to Mr Burke's agent, who will forward any directed to you and their other Californian clients._

Setting the last letter down atop the pile beside him, Murdoch stood up and moved to the mantelpiece. A small sad smile played on his lips. He gazed at Catherine's image in the silver-framed daguerreotype, and brought her laughter and gentleness to mind.

Several minutes later, shaking himself out of reverie, he picked up his dinner tray and returned it to the kitchen. Then pouring himself a wee dram from the decanter on the sideboard, he sat back down in the faded brocade armchair and opened the letter from his sister, Maggie.

_Congratulations, you are an uncle. Our bonnie wee girl, the apple of her father's eye from the very moment he saw her, was born in the early hours of Tuesday morning. We have named her Ellen Euphemia. Granny McInnes declares she takes after Rob, but who can really tell at this stage? The bairn is bald as an egg._

The letter from his mother was much thicker, more like a parcel than a letter. It turned out to contain a copy of the local weekly newspaper. When he went to put the _Inverness Gazette_ next to Catherine's letters, intending to read it later, a smaller package fell to the floor. Unwrapping the brown paper and string he found a neat calico bag with draw-string and a note: _For the First Footing, in case there is none about_. Peeking inside the bag, Murdoch smiled. His mother thought of everything.

Placing the bag on the newspaper Murdoch began to read his mother's letter, a single sheet of close writing, and was greeted with another surprise.

_Your brother is to be married on Sunday. The laird finally found a replacement for you as factor, a widower from Aberdeen, Angus Cameron. He arrived about a month after you left, bringing with him his grown daughter, Elspeth, to keep house. To say it was love at first sight for Jock would be something of an understatement. I've never known him behave so soppy over a lass and her all of twenty-six and past her prime. She is an intelligent and useful sort however, and respectful of my place in the household, so I think we shall get on fine. _

Murdoch chuckled at his mother's way of putting things. Sipping his whiskey, he closed his eyes and pictured her bustling about her kitchen, ordering him and his brother to take their boots off so not to dirty her freshly mopped floor. He said a wee prayer for his new sister-in-law. He hoped she was a patient woman. He had a feeling she was going to need to be sharing a house with his mother.

With a sigh he folded his letters and carefully stored them away to read again another day. Pouring himself a second dram he then began to plan the day ahead.

As it neared Christmas, he thought more and more of the family and friends he had left behind. This would be his first Christmas and Hogmanay away from home, and he could not help but feel a little homesick.

When O'Brien and Ramos came to talk to him about the holiday festivities, he readily agreed to everything they asked. Among other things, they explained about the posadas that would take place over the nine nights leading up to Christmas, and he was touched when Ramos invited him to join in with the celebrations.

"Thank you. I would like that very much. If you and the others would do me the honour of your company again, I would like to throw a party to see in the New Year. In Scotland we call it Hogmanay and it is a special time. I would like to share its customs with you."

The holiday season began the following evening with the first candle lit procession.

_Two young people were selected from the Mexican families to play the parts of Joseph and Mary. Dressed in costume, Joseph led Mary past the workers cottages on the back of a donkey. I walked with the American and Indian hands at the back of the crowd. Each person held a candle. About half way down the row of adobe cottages the procession stopped and Joseph sang out his request for shelter. Pedro, the worker who lives there, sang his response that there was no room, and so the procession moved on. This was repeated at the next house and then at the third the would-be innkeeper, Carlos, finally opened the door wide and invited us all in. There were too many people for everyone to go inside, but those left outside gathered around the doorway and we all sang:_

_Entren santos peregrinos, peregrinos,__  
__reciban este rincón__  
__no de esta pobre morada__  
__sino de mi corazón.__  
__Esta noche es de alegría__  
__de gusto y de regocijo__  
__porque hospedaremos aquí__  
__a la Madre de Dios Hijo._

_In English that means:_

_Enter holy pilgrims, pilgrims__  
__receive this corner__  
__not this poor dwelling__  
__but my heart.__  
__Tonight is for joy,__  
__for pleasure and rejoicing__  
__for tonight we will give lodging__  
__to the Mother of God the Son._

_The children were then let loose to beat the seven-pointed star piñata that hung from the tree in the middle of the yard. There was great excitement as you can imagine. We adults laughed and cheered them on. When the sweet treats finally showered down upon them, Carlos's family served tamales and a hot drink called 'ponche' to everyone. _

Murdoch accepted his glass and sniffed at it with interest.

"It's made from various fruits that are in season,' explained O'Brien. "Every Mexican family seems to have its own special recipe. I've tasted several that are quite different. Sometimes they add a little tequila for the adults—nope, not this time."

After they had eaten and talked for a while, the host family distributed small gifts of dried fruit and baking, and carols were sung. Murdoch joined in as best he could, humming when he could not make out the words. Eventually everyone said goodnight and went to their beds. Tomorrow they would do a full day's work before holding the next posada.

_There is one posada for every month that the Virgin Mary carried Jesus in her womb._

On Christmas Eve, the final posada ended at José Ramos's house further down the dirt road away from the main ranch buildings. Padre Benedicto came from the mission to hold a special midnight mass for the families at Lancer, and then the feasting began in earnest until the early hours. As dawn began to break all but a few hands, who had volunteered to carry out the essential morning chores, drifted off to their beds and a day of rest. Murdoch too spent a quiet Christmas day reflecting on the events of the past year, writing letters and reading.

The following week was work as usual but at a slower pace. Three days after Christmas, Cipriano asked to borrow Murdoch's carved bone-handled knife to cut some rope, his own being too blunt for the job. Murdoch had bought the knife in Panama, and it had proved particularly useful for all sorts of tasks.

"Get away, you young devil!" cried Paul O'Brien, coming on the scene just in time, "Trying to take advantage of the boss like that."

"I don't understand. Why shouldn't I lend him the knife?"

"Because today is Los Santos Inocentes, Mr Lancer. It's a bit like April Fool's Day, but the main thing to remember is that if you lend anything, the borrower doesn't have to give it back. That young whelp was trying to fleece you of your good knife."

Cipriano grinned back at them and gave his boss a cheery wave before disappearing into the barn.

On New Year's Eve all the ranch hands and their families gathered in the courtyard to one side of the hacienda for a party hosted by Murdoch.

_Cipriano and I spent most of the afternoon hanging lanterns. Estella enlisted the help of the other women and the tables were heavy with food by the time everyone started to gather in the early evening. _

The men brought their guitars and other instruments, and the dancing and singing never stopped until the chimes of an old clock, which had been given pride of place atop a wall, warned them that midnight was approaching.

Murdoch took a handful of grapes and swallowed one for luck with each chime of the clock as Estella had instructed, and then on the stroke of midnight he began to sing:

_Should auld acquaintance be forgot,_

_And never brought to mind?_

_Should auld acquaintance be forgot,_

_For the sake of auld lang syne?_

_For auld lang syne, my jo_

_For auld lang syne,_

_We'll take a cup o' kindness yet,_

_For auld lang syne._

Some of the Americans joined with Murdoch's baritone immediately and by the end most of his guests were humming or singing along.

"Happy New Year! Now Cipriano, if you would do the honours?"

Murdoch slipped inside the hacienda and closed the kitchen door. Cipriano took a small calico bag from his pocket. Murdoch had given it to him earlier in the evening. Emptying the contents into his hand, he held up a shiny black stone for all to see.

"It's coal—all the way from Scotland." Paul O'Brien told the guests in both Spanish and English. "Where Mr Lancer comes from, it's seen as good luck for the first visitor of the new year to be a tall dark-haired man, who brings a gift of coal or food to the household."

Everyone followed Cipriano round to the front of the hacienda and watched as he knocked on the heavy timber door, carrying the coal and a plate of his mother's bunuelos. Murdoch opened the door and welcomed him in. He accepted the gifts and presented Cipriano with a dram of whiskey in exchange. Inviting everyone else inside Murdoch made a short speech. "In Scotland we call this night 'Hogmanay' and the tradition you've just witnessed is the First Footing. I'd like to thank you for sharing your customs over the past few weeks, and I hope you've enjoyed this evening with me." He then offered all the adults a glass of whiskey. "A toast, my friends, to your good health and the prosperity of the Estancia Lancer."

Later, when all his guests had departed, Murdoch stood alone in the deserted courtyard gazing up at the stars. Funny how his family in Scotland could see those same stars, and Catherine and his friends in Boston. It was somehow comforting. Saying a prayer of thanks for his good fortune during the past year, he raised his glass to the sky. "Happy New Year everyone. God bless."


	13. From H to H Chap13 Luck Runs Out

From Highlands to Homecoming By Margaret P.

Chapter Thirteen: Luck Runs Out (Words: 2,693)

Ten months three weeks and two days after Murdoch disembarked in Boston from the _Duchess of Argyle_, he strode down the gangplank of the clipper _Sea Witch_ onto the Boston wharf once again.

He said farewell to California mid-January, leaving Paul O'Brien in charge of the ranch. Another clipper gave him passage from Yerba Buena. The _Trinity_ dropped anchor briefly at San Diego, where it off-loaded tallow to the warehouses there and filled its hull with more hides, before continuing on to Panama and beyond. Murdoch again crossed the isthmus by mule and river transport, and stepped aboard the _Sea Witch_ for the homeward stretch after only one night in Chagres.

His luck held when he knocked on the door of Mrs Merriweather's boarding house.

"Hello Rose. Does Mrs M. have a spare room?"

"Mr Lancer! She does, sir. Wait here. I'll get her for you. Welcome back." Rose scuttled along the hall to the small sitting room near the back of the house that doubled as the landlady's office. Soon Mrs Merriweather was showing Murdoch into a bedroom off the first landing, very similar to the one he had rented the previous year except that it had a wardrobe.

"Now you will note, Mr Lancer, this room is more commodious than your previous one, hence the rent is one dollar per week more. Now that you are a landowner yourself, you will of course have a better understanding of the costs involved in running a household such as this. Not that there is any comparison between a respectable establishment in a civilised city like Boston and a farm located in the middle of nowhere, but we all have to start somewhere, and I'm very pleased to hear you're on the upward ladder." Mrs Merriweather drew breath to pull back the curtains and opened the window to air the room. "I was telling my friend, Mrs Prendergast, only the other day, I'm like a mother to my gentlemen, and give them the very best start in life by providing a secure and happy home. So many of my young men do well for themselves. Mr Thompson left only to take up a promotion in New York, you know. So sad to leave here he was—quite forlorn. But lucky for you as I would not have had a room otherwise."

Familiar with his landlady's ways, Murdoch was amused by her prattle. He managed to keep a straight face however, and after showing polite interest in Thompson's good fortune, he dropped his bag by the bed and took out his pocketbook. He paid Mrs Merriweather up to the following Friday, and she smiled her approval.

"Will you be in for dinner, Mr Lancer? Excellent, we are having pickled pork this evening. I'll expect you in the dining room at six. But what am I thinking. You know the rules." Surveying the room with a critical eye she finally took her leave.

Business had to be Murdoch's first consideration, but once he had secured the necessary appointments for the following day and he made his way directly to a fine brick house on Chestnut Street.

"Is Miss McIntyre at home?"

Murdoch waited in the entrance hall while the maid went to inquire if her young mistress was at home to visitors. She returned within moments and showed him into to a comfortable sitting room overlooking the rear garden. Beth turned from the window as he entered. Dismissing the maid, she greeted him warmly. "You cannot imagine how good it is to see you."

She led him over towards the fireplace. "Mother, I'd like you to meet, Mr Lancer."

An attractive middle-aged woman rose from an armchair and offered her hand. "Welcome, Mr Lancer. I am so pleased to finally meet the cause of all the furore."

"Furore?"

"Ah, you have not heard. In that case, I think I will leave my daughter to explain the situation. You will excuse me, Mr Lancer, but I have some letters to write." Mrs McIntyre tidied her embroidery away and went to a desk at the far end of the adjoining room, leaving one of the French doors open behind her.

As soon as Mrs McIntyre was out of hearing, Beth began. "Oh Murdoch, I'm so glad you're here at last. The most awful thing has happened. Mr Garrett knows about you and Catherine."

"Well, I would have preferred to meet as gentlemen to explain how Catherine and I feel about each other, but it was inevitable. He had to know sometime."

"But you don't understand. He is furious! I am banned from the house. He wanted to send Catherine to Worcester to stay with her aunt, but she refused to go. Her aunt, however, has now come here, and chaperones her everywhere." Beth paced the room, wringing her hands. "Oh, it's all my fault. If I hadn't been so eager to know what was in your last letter, he would never have seen her trying to hide it away."

"Can we get a message to her? That was why I came, to ask you to tell her I was back and arrange to meet."

"I don't know how. I get a little information via our servants, but the Garretts' servants are too afraid of losing their jobs to help us. Mr Garrett now checks all the mail going in and out of the house. Catherine is a virtual prisoner."

Worried and not knowing what else to do, Murdoch went from Chestnut Street to the Garrett residence in Louisburg Square. He was refused entry. Stepping back into the road he searched the windows for some sign of Catherine, but there was nothing. All he could see of the interior were the heavy drapes that stood sentry on either side of each window.

With growing anxiety he then visited Harlan Garrett's place of business, but he did not get past the secretary.

"Leave now, Mr Lancer, or I will call for the day police. Mr Garrett has given express orders. You are not to be allowed on these premises." The secretary stood between Murdoch and the doorway, which led to Harlan Garrett's office. Murdoch hesitated. Should he force his way through? Thinking better of it, he retreated to the street.

That evening after dinner Murdoch sat on the edge of Jim Harper's bed as his friend shaved and dressed for an evening out with business associates.

"What am I going to do? We were going to be married. I've already booked us passage to California."

"When does the ship sail?" asked Jim, holding the skin taut and scraping the razor down his cheek, then knocking the foam into a dish on the dresser.

"Three weeks. I was going to see Catherine first. If she still felt the same way, as I believe she does, we were going to speak with her father together."

"I've taken great care not to let my connection with you be known to Garrett. He is the leading investor in a syndicate my firm set up to finance imports from South America. Mr Kirby and I dine at his house with the other syndicate members every Thursday. I believe I could get a message to Miss Garrett." Jim took up the towel and dried his face. Shaking down his sleeves, he inserted gold cufflinks and selected a dinner jacket from a compactum wardrobe in the corner of the room.

"You would do that? Garrett is a powerful man in the business world, Jim. If he found out you helped us, there could be repercussions."

"Best not let him find out then. Now, if you don't mind, I can't afford to be late," Jim held the door open for Murdoch. Exiting himself, he disappeared down the stairs.

The following day, still worried but no longer desperate, Murdoch visited Douglas Muir at the bank to finalise the paperwork for the mortgage. He then made his way to James McIntyre and Associates. Beth was waiting for him outside, eager to know what had happened after he had left her.

"I thought I could stand outside Catherine's house or the Athenaeum or theatre until she saw me. Even if I couldn't get close enough to speak to her, she would at least know I was in town."

"She knows already," Beth replied. "I told you our servants talk to each other. The Garrett servants will not actively help, but that doesn't stop them gossiping."

"Then I need to decide what to write in the message Harper has offered to deliver. We need a time and place to meet, where she can elude her father and aunt."

"Saturday—at the Eliots'. The Garretts are bound to attend. Mrs Eliot holds her soirees so infrequently, and the Eliots are such a prestigious family that Mr Garrett would never dream of not going. Besides, rumour has it that Senator and Mrs Eliot's nephew will be there."

"Why should that matter?"

"Ah well, he was quite taken with Catherine on his last visit, and she didn't absolutely hate him. Mr Garrett entertained great hopes, I think, but Mr Eliot was obliged to return to West Point before it came to anything."

This news was not to Murdoch's liking. He had heard of West Point. The idea that Catherine 'did not absolutely hate' a young military cadet, of whom her father approved, was not to his liking at all.

"Our family has been invited too," Beth added, oblivious to Murdoch's change of mood. "As long as I stay in Mr Garrett's sight while Catherine is out of it, he shouldn't become suspicious. He couldn't possibly expect you to be there."

"No, I suppose not," Murdoch growled.

Beth paused, looked at him intently. She smiled.

"What?"

"Oh, nothing." Beth bent to retie her boot lace and then, face composed, continued. "Mrs Eliot always uses the rooms upstairs for such events. The breakfast room downstairs opens to the garden, and it should be empty. Catherine knows that house well—we were both very friendly with Dorothea Eliot before she married and moved to Philadelphia. I'm sure Catherine could easily make some excuse to leave the party for a short while and meet you by the gate in the wall. It opens to a back alley. You could wait there for her, and I could create some kind of diversion if her father noticed her absence."

"Thank you, Beth. I don't know what we would do without you."

Beth blushed. She headed off to visit her milliner as Murdoch entered the building to meet with her father. James McIntyre was speaking with his secretary in the outer office as Murdoch came in the door.

"Welcome back, Mr Lancer. I'm glad you're on time. We have serious matters to discuss."

Following McIntyre into his inner sanctum, Murdoch wondered if he was going to get an 'I told you so' lecture, but his lawyer had more pressing concerns on his mind than his client's love life.

"Muller is abroad. He was due back last month in good time to sign the final agreement, but his passage was delayed by the death of his father-in-law in Germany. He won't be back for another month, maybe more." McIntyre sat down behind his desk and indicated that Murdoch should also take a seat.

"But surely that doesn't matter. Most of the papers have already been signed. His lawyers must have the authority to act on his behalf and finalise the financial arrangements in his absence."

"They have, but they won't," McIntyre almost spat his disgust. "One of Muller's ships went down off Africa before Christmas. It was a heavy financial loss, but Muller would have been well insured. His lawyer declares now, however, as a result he will finalise no new business until Muller returns. Not a word of the kind until last week. I'd lay money Harlan Garrett has had a hand in his decision. They were seen dining together at a private club earlier in the week."

"Muller will sign when he returns?"

"I am certain of it, but that doesn't help you in the short term. I take it you cannot delay your return?"

"No, coming here at all is not ideal, but I need his guarantee for the loan with the bank. I have just made the first mortgage payment from my remaining funds. It leaves me very little. I need that money for wages and expenses until I can sell some cattle late spring. What on earth am I going to do?"

"I don't know. I am working on it, but Garrett is an influential man. It appears he now knows about you and his daughter, and is waging a personal vendetta. It is going to be extremely difficult to find a new backer."

For some time after leaving the lawyer's office, Murdoch wandered the streets thinking. There was nothing he could do about his financial situation until McIntyre identified another potential investor. The lawyer had warned him not to advertise the problem to his bank manager. Douglas Muir was first and foremost required to act in the best interests of the bank. Losing Muller's backing, albeit temporarily, could undermine the bank's faith in Murdoch's ability to finance his mortgage.

Murdoch decided to write to Catherine and her father. He would pay for the letters to be delivered, so that they should at least make it over the threshold. If Beth was right, Catherine's would make it no further, and in case Garrett read it, he was careful what he wrote. He thought long and hard how to word his letter to Harlan Garrett. In the end it was courteous and brief.

_Dear Mr Garrett,_

_I write to apologise unreservedly for any offence I may have given. I was wrong to see your daughter without your approval. I am ashamed that I forgot what was due to you as her father, and I humbly beg the opportunity to make amends. _

_I assure you, sir, my feelings for Miss Garrett are genuine and my intentions are honourable. I hereby request your permission to court her in a proper manner._

_As a caring father, you will naturally wish to know my background before granting such permission. You know something of my financial situation and plans already, but I believe I can further demonstrate my good prospects. I would be grateful for an interview at your earliest convenience, so I can answer any questions you may have._

_With greatest respect,_

_Murdoch Lancer_

"Let me guess, no response to either letter?" Jim accepted the note Murdoch had written to Catherine and tucked it away in the inside pocket of his dinner jacket. "Wish me luck."

When Jim finally returned later in the evening, Murdoch unbolted the door to let him in. Mrs Merriweather made an exception to her 'no admission after 10 o'clock' policy for Mr Harper, because he was a long term boarder, clearly advancing in the world and because he bribed her with imported Belgian chocolates. She was certainly not going to turn down Mr Lancer's offer to wait up for the gentleman and went happily off to her bedroom to enjoy the latest box of truffles.

"Mission accomplished," announced Jim, enjoying the last few puffs of his cigar on the door step before entering the house. Mrs M. did not approve of smoking except in the guest's sitting room within normal hours. "You have the etiquette of coffee to thank. As lady of the house, Miss Garrett always serves it before retiring for the evening and leaving us to our business. It was no problem at all to slip her your note."

"Thank you, Jim. My sons and their sons thank you. Bit hard to start a dynasty without the mother of your children." Murdoch sank to the step beside Jim and accepted a cigar from his friend, who now appeared to be getting quite comfortable, sitting there surveying the dark, deserted street. "Now if only McIntyre can find another moneyman to back me in the short term until Muller returns, life will not look so bleak."

"Nil desperandum, my friend. You never know what tomorrow may bring."


	14. From H to H Chap14 The Tide Turns

From Highlands to Homecoming by Margaret P.

Chapter 14: The Tide Turns (Words: 2,154)

Murdoch stepped back into the shadows as the night cart rumbled by. Hugging himself to keep warm, he once again listened hard at the solid wooden gate, but all he could hear were the distant strains of Mozart. Something had gone wrong. Catherine could not get away. He slid down on his haunches with his back to the gate, and his face upturned to the sky, black clouds gathering overhead. What was he to do now? Then he heard it, a click, the rustle of silk, a gentle tap and finally, thankfully, her urgent whisper. "Murdoch, are you there?"

"Catherine!" The heavy iron bolt grated as it drew back and the gate creaked open. A quick glance in both directions and he slipped through the gate into her arms.

They remained locked in an embrace for several minutes. Murdoch buried his face in Catherine's hair, and breathed in her scent. It seemed to give him strength. Pulling back to look at her, he said, "I've missed you so much. Are you all right?"

"I've missed you too. And I am well, but unhappy. I do not have much time. I've tried and tried to convince Father to let me see you, but he will not budge."

"Oh, it's all such a mess. I should have spoken to him like a man before I left Boston last year. It's the secrecy that has upset him most. I am sure of it."

"Maybe, but I'm not convinced it would have made any difference. He has this great plan in his head for me. Marrying a Californian rancher with potential but no current wealth, who is less than a year off the boat from Inverness, doesn't fit with that plan." Catherine seemed strangely calm. For a single woman at odds with her family, having a clandestine meeting with a young man in the darkness of someone else's garden, she was remarkably composed.

"You still want to marry me? No wait, I must tell you something before you answer. George Muller is abroad and his lawyers will not sign over the money in his absence. I am virtually penniless, Catherine. Unless some miracle occurs and another investor is found quickly, I will have to return to Lancer and survive on a shoe-string and the goodwill of my workers. If they abandon me, because I cannot pay them, I do not know how I will get my cattle to Yerba Buena to sell. If I can't sell my cattle when the time is right, the Estancia Lancer will not survive. I can't ask you to marry me in such circumstances."

"Do you love me, Murdoch?"

"You know I do, but that isn't …."

Catherine raised her fingers to his lips. "Now you listen to me, Murdoch Lancer. I've had ten long months to think about this. I'm of age, I love you and I am going to marry you. There is nothing that my father—or you— can do or say to change my mind. Arrange a minister, send a message with Mr Harper to tell me when you are ready and I will leave my father's house. That is an order."

Murdoch smiled at the memory of Catherine's speech all the way home as the first drops of rain began to fall. She was a feisty lass for all that good breeding and training in genteel ways. He and Jim were to walk to Roxbury in the morning. He wanted to catch up with his friend, Ben Telford, and had invited Harper to come with him. He would talk it over with the two of them and devise a plan. He was sure Beth would help. The tide had turned. Some things at least were looking up.

"I told you it wouldn't be a problem." Ben's minister had been quite happy to make a time and date to marry Murdoch and Catherine in his whitewashed church off the square. The three friends ambled back towards the house where Ben still lived with his cousin. The sun burst through the clouds, and the gardens around them were verdant and colourful. Murdoch smiled to himself, more than his surroundings looked brighter.

"You can stay with me the night before. Henry and Alice won't mind. I'll book a room for the wedding night at the local hotel. Mr Garrett will never think of looking for his daughter out here."

"I'll get a message to Miss Garrett this Thursday, so that she is ready to leave the following Thursday," added Jim. "With Miss McIntyre's help, she will meet you here in Roxbury on Friday morning and you will be Mr and Mrs Murdoch Lancer by sundown."

"I don't deserve such good friends. I owe you both." Murdoch clapped his companions on the shoulders. With renewed hope, he bound up the front steps towards the smell of roast beef and Yorkshire pudding.

"Oh, don't be too grateful. I'm a businessman, remember," laughed Jim, wiping his feet on the door mat. "I'll no doubt call in the favour someday."

The week that followed was one of frustration with small pin-pricks of hope.

Murdoch visited G.W. Burke and Son to catch up with Alfred Burke and to let him and his father know how things were going at the Estancia Lancer. Their business was done, but he and young Burke had got on well. They were now free to develop their acquaintance into friendship. Before Murdoch left the agents' office, he confided in an understated way his financial dilemma. He was buoyed when they suggested a gentleman who could be interested in such an investment. James McIntyre also contacted him with a name.

Optimistic, Murdoch visited both men, armed with as much information as he could muster, but neither gentleman was willing to back him. One came right out and acknowledged Harlan Garrett's influence. "Unfortunately, Mr Lancer, I do a lot of business with Mr Garrett, with whom I believe you are currently at odds. It would not be wise for me to invest."

Thankfully, Jim returned Thursday evening with good news to cheer him up. He had successfully conveyed a second note to Catherine. "Not such an easy job this time. That damned aunt of hers kept hovering. I think she thought I had intentions. You'll be pleased to know that I'm no more acceptable as a prospective husband for Miss Garrett than you."

"How did you manage it then?" asked Murdoch, grinning at Jim's indignation. Catherine had told him that her Aunt Winifred was a sanctimonious dowager with no children of her own. She was Harlan Garrett's half-sister and some years older. She had jumped at the chance to play turnkey when Garrett had asked her help to keep Catherine away from Murdoch and any other undesirable young man.

"I'm very clumsy," chuckled Jim. "I accidentally spilled my coffee over the old crone. In the resulting mayhem, Miss Garrett pocketed the message."

Murdoch visited Beth the following day to confirm Harper's success. He had seen her earlier in the week at the Athenaeum. As expected she had been more than ready to help. Murdoch had explained the scheme as far as he and his friends had already devised, and Beth filled in the gaps.

"My father can't know. I will ask my mother on Thursday if I can borrow the carriage to visit a new friend in Roxbury on Friday morning. It won't be a lie. Father also has a regular meeting on Thursday nights, so there should be no time for them to discuss my request. I will not be able to leave too early or it would look suspicious, but I should be able to collect Catherine by 10 o'clock, if Mr Harper can spare the time to wait with her until then."

"I seem to be the cause of a lot of deception," Murdoch said glumly. "I wish there was some other way." Beth touched his arm in sympathy, but as neither of them could think of another way, there seemed no choice but to continue with the plan.

Ben and Jim tried to shake him out of his reservations when they went fishing together on Sunday. Murdoch was not the happy future bridegroom of novels. His financial affairs seemed hopeless and here he was plotting an elopement, which went against everything he had ever believed to be right.

"If I had more time, I would find another way," he bemoaned as he put a fresh worm on his hook. "I feel like this wee worm, desperately trying to escape, but skewered to the one spot."

"You'd never make a Boston businessman," Jim observed. "Far too much conscience for your own good."

"Have a sandwich and another beer," Ben suggested. "Focus on the prize and forget the rest. Now me, I'm quite looking forward to it: a day off, a slap up meal at your expense after the nuptials. Not to mention a chance to make a speech and to meet Miss McIntyre—you did say she's pretty, didn't you? What could be better?"

Late Monday morning, just as he was about to leave the boarding house to meet Jim for lunch, Murdoch received a message from James McIntyre.

_I have news. Be at my office at 1 o'clock._

Puzzled but daring to hope that something good might finally be about to happen, he skipped lunch and went straight to the lawyer's office. He had to wait, because McIntyre was in court, but with ten minutes to spare the advocate appeared.

"This morning I received an unexpected visit from Edward Kirby of New England Enterprises. He has made a very surprising and very generous offer. He proposes to advance you half the value of the hides and tallow from five hundred steers on the condition that you deliver the cattle to his agent in Yerba Buena by May 29th. The balance will be paid to you in Mexican currency upon delivery."

Murdoch was dumbfounded. This had to be Jim's doing, but he had not said a word about it. "I don't know what to say. That's wonderful!"

"Say you accept, and we can sign the agreement now and the money will be in your bank account tomorrow."

"Accept, of course I accept. My God, I don't even know the man. How can I ever repay him?"

"The only repayment he asked for was for you to keep the arrangement confidential, and for you to fulfil your contract on time." McIntyre called his secretary in to act as witness, and then he presented the documents for Murdoch's signature. "I would say, Mr Lancer, you have a guardian angel lurking somewhere. The timing of this could not be better."

Murdoch's guardian angel came through the boarding house door soon after 5 o'clock. Following Jim up to his room, Murdoch thanked him profusely.

"Why have you done so much for me, Jim? We have not known each other long and yet you have been my saviour several times over now."

"Mr Kirby has taught me there are two types of businessman, Murdo, the ones who achieve wealth through investing in things and the ones who invest in people. Mr Kirby is the latter. He has done very well for himself and he is a happy man, with friends and business associates, whom he trusts and who trust him. Harlan Garrett is the former. He has perhaps more money, but he is poor in all other respects. I choose to be like my mentor." Jim threw his jacket over the end of the bed and rolled up his sleeves ready to wash off the day's dust and grime. "It wasn't difficult to persuade Mr Kirby. He did take somewhat longer to think about my proposal than I had hoped, but I believe he wanted to talk with Miss Garrett. He apparently had that opportunity last Thursday and then took the weekend to come up with the simple idea of an advance payment. Will it be enough to tide you over until Muller gets back?"

"It should be. Please thank him for me. I wish I could do it in person, but he has asked that I do not contact him or make our relationship known."

"Yes, it wouldn't help our Thursday syndicate meetings to have the two main players not speaking to each other. Mr Kirby is sufficiently powerful himself not to be afraid of Harlan Garrett, but he doesn't look for unnecessary confrontation."

After dinner the two friends went out for a celebratory drink. It was not exactly a stag night and they did not stay out late, but a huge worry had been lifted from Murdoch's shoulders. He was able to really enjoy himself for the first time since returning to Boston. A full moon shone down upon them as he and Jim strolled back from the bar in mellow mood, only four more days until the main event.


	15. From H to H Chap15 The Great Escape

From Highlands to Homecoming by Margaret P.

Chapter Fifteen: The Great Escape (Words: 1,831)

Murdoch packed his bag and left for Roxbury on Thursday afternoon. Henry and Alice Telford made him welcome, and he spent the evening playing cards with Henry and Ben while Alice chivvied the children to bed and darned socks by the fireside. In the morning Ben had a lie in, but Murdoch was too anxious and walked the length and breadth of Roxbury until the time he could reasonably expect Catherine and Beth to arrive.

Jim would not be with them. His business interests lay in being a silent partner in crime. He had wished Murdoch well the day before and declined to be at the wedding. "I'll see Miss Garrett safely away, and then go into work. I'll be as surprised as the next man when Miss Garrett's absence is discovered. Not that I expect old Harlan to advertise it."

Murdoch helped Alice up the stairs with her washing basket as Ben emerged onto the front porch and settled himself into a rocking chair. His cousin's springer spaniel lifted its head, and then padded over to Ben with a hopeful woof.

"Sorry, not today, Jasper," Ben said, chucking the dog under its chin. "No sign of them yet?"

Murdoch shook his head. Returning to the front gate, he stood with his hands in his pockets, gazing down the road. Half an hour later he was still waiting, pacing and muttering to himself.

"We may as well go inside and have something to eat," suggested Ben, coming down and leaning on the gate. "Alice has prepared some cold cuts and salad. She makes the best bread. The others can have theirs when they get here."

Again Murdoch shook his head. He had no appetite. Where were they? Perhaps he should walk towards Boston. He stared at the old oak on the rise and willed something to happen. The crows roosting on the lower branch responded by rising into the air. Seconds later a landau came into view. "At last!"

It was them. Within minutes the two young women, flushed with excitement, tumbled out of the carriage. Murdoch scooped Catherine up and swung her round full circle in his pleasure and relief. Leaving Ben to introduce himself to Beth, Murdoch escorted Catherine up the path. Ben shouldered her bag and gave the coachman a dollar. "The inn is about half a mile that way. Get yourself a beer and something to eat. Miss McIntyre won't be ready to go back until later this afternoon. She'll meet you there."

Alice was putting on her bonnet when they entered the house. "Lunch is laid out in the dining room. I'll leave you to enjoy it. I have some errands to do."

Settling into chairs at the table, the friends eagerly helped themselves to cold ham, bacon and egg pie, salad greens, and Alice's fresh baked bread and homemade pickles. They were all famished.

"What took you so long?" Murdoch asked between mouthfuls.

Bit by bit the story unfolded.

As arranged Catherine had retired to her room after serving coffee to her father's business associates. Her aunt had said good night to her on the landing and after helping Catherine undress, Jemima had gone to her bed in the servant's quarters.

"I sat brushing my hair for some time to be sure neither of them would come back, and then I retrieved the carpet bag I had hidden at the back of the wardrobe and finished packing." Catherine poured herself some more water. "It was about half past ten when I finally mustered the courage to leave my bedroom. I carried my boots as well as my bag. I didn't want to be heard crossing the tiles. Jordan, our butler, was just entering the drawing room with a fresh decanter of brandy when I reached the lower landing. I waited until he closed the door behind him and then made my escape down the stairs and across the entrance hall to the green baize door. The grandfather clock in the hall chimed as I passed. I got such a fright, I nearly dropped something."

Murdoch took hold of her hand and smiled. "You went out through the servant's stairway then?"

"Yes. I knew that Jordan would be the only one up at that time, and he would likely be serving Father's guests. It was the safest way. There is a door for deliveries in the basement, along the hall from the butler's pantry and storeroom. I have often heard Mrs Pearson scold the kitchen maid for leaving it unlocked. I took the risk that Jordan would not find it particularly suspicious if he found it unbolted when he did his final rounds."

"And what of Harper, did he meet you as planned?" Ben asked, sawing another slice of bread from the loaf.

"I waited in a corner of the yard until I heard him whistling, and then joined him in the back lane. I was terrified we would meet someone on the way to the boarding house, but we were lucky. Rose let us in through the scullery door, and I shared her bed for the night. Fortunately neither of us is very big."

The following morning Catherine had drunk tea in the kitchen as Rose prepared and served breakfast to the boarders. Her stomach had been churning too much to eat. Jim Harper had come in to keep her company once the last of the other gentlemen had gone to work. It must have been just after 9 o'clock when the doorbell rang and someone banged loudly on the front door.

"Rose went to answer it, and Mr Harper and I eavesdropped from the dining room. The door was only open a little, but we had a clear view of the front entrance. I nearly fainted when I saw my father."

Rose had rushed to the door as fast as she could, afraid that the noise would bring her mistress downstairs an hour before her normal time. It would not do at all for Mrs Merriweather to discover a strange young woman in her kitchen. The maid had called for patience as she struggled with the lock.

"Can I help you, sir?"

"I want Lancer. Where is Lancer? Get him for me immediately!" Harlan Garrett spat his orders at the surprised maid as he pushed his way past her into the hall. Two menservants hovered on the threshold.

"I am sorry, sir," Rose replied, repositioning herself between Mr Garrett and the stairs and dining room, "but Mr Lancer left yesterday. He is not here."

"Liar! He must be here. Let me by woman, I intend to search this house from top to bottom until I find him and my daughter."

"How dare you, sir!" Matilda Merriweather appeared on the landing. She descended like a galleon in full sail, encased in a pink candlewick dressing gown, her slippers slapping on the polished timber stairs. "What is the meaning of this?"

"I am looking for my daughter, madam. I believe Murdoch Lancer has abducted her, and I wish to search this house."

"What nonsense! As my maid has already informed you, Mr Lancer left yesterday afternoon. He is not here and neither is your daughter. Leave my house immediately!"

"Ma'am, do you know who I am?"

"No, sir, I do not. You haven't had the courtesy to tell me. At this point, however, I do not care. Remove yourself from my hall or I will send my maid for the day police, and you can introduce yourself to them."

Faced with forcing his way passed the indomitable Matilda Merriweather, Catherine's father had only blustered a little longer. When the lady's patience finally wore out, and she told Rose to fetch a policeman, Harlan Garrett accepted defeat. He marched back to his carriage, slammed the door and ordered his driver on.

Catherine and Harper had retreated into the kitchen. Rose had eventually managed to placate her mistress, and had persuaded her to go back upstairs to her bedroom. The maid had then joined the others in the kitchen and they had all breathed a great sigh of relief. Their eagerness for Beth to arrive and whisk Catherine away had increased in proportion.

"But she was late." Catherine smiled at her friend, encouraging her to take up the story.

"Everything had gone as planned my end, until the last. Mother was indisposed so she had breakfast in bed. I was putting on my bonnet and gloves when my father popped back home unexpectedly to check on her health. He asked where I was going. When I told him I was visiting a friend, Mrs Telford in Roxbury, he became suspicious. You must have mentioned Roxbury or Mr Telford to him in passing, Murdoch."

"I don't remember doing so, but I suppose it is possible. He employs an investigator though, so maybe he found out that way. What did he say?"

"He asked me what was going on. I couldn't lie to him." Beth stared shamefaced at the table.

"No, of course you couldn't," Catherine commiserated, reaching across and patting her hand. "I would have told Father everything if he had asked me outright like that."

James McIntyre had not been happy with the news that his daughter was assisting her friend to elope with his client. He had paced the floor and attempted to speak several times before finally doing so.

"I do not defend Harlan Garrett, but the dishonesty of an elopement cannot be the answer, Beth. It could leave Catherine and her father estranged forever."

"But he has left her no other choice, Father. I'm Catherine's friend and I'm going to help her. Will you let me take the landau or must I hail a horse and cab?"

Preferring to have his daughter escorted by his own coachman, McIntyre had allowed her to take the family carriage. She had collected Catherine from the rear entrance of Mrs Merriweather's boarding house and from that point they had made good time to Roxbury.

Story and lunch over, the friends cleared the leftovers and crockery away, and prepared to walk to the church. Ben would send the bags on to the hotel later. They gave Jasper some fresh water and then strolled towards the town square.

White clouds dotted a blue sky and the slightest of breezes teased the ladies' hair from their bonnets. It was the perfect day for a wedding. Arm supporting the woman he loved and their two best friends about to share their wedding day, Murdoch gazed up to the heavens and said a silent thank you.

The foursome arrived at the wooden church shortly before the appointed time. The minister stood in welcome at the entrance as they walked up the wide gravel path side by side. They had almost reached the doorway, when they heard the crack of a whip. Turning, they saw a horse and buggy approaching at speed. As it was reined sharply to a stop, two men jumped down.

"Father!"


	16. From H to H Chap16 Love and Honour

From Highlands to Homecoming by Margaret P.

Chapter Sixteen: Love and Honour (Words: 1,669)

Catherine and Beth cried out together. Both their fathers were running towards the church. Catherine broke free of Murdoch's arm and moved to meet Harlan Garrett part way down the path. Beth just stared in open-mouthed horror.

Grabbing his daughter's hand, Garrett breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank goodness, I got here in time."

"Father, we need to talk."

"There is nothing to talk about. I am taking you home," responded Garrett. He attempted to pull her towards the buggy, but she resisted.

Murdoch came up beside Catherine and put his arm around her. "I'm sorry, sir, but I can't let you do that. Your daughter has agreed to marry me. I love her and she loves me. We would rather marry with your blessing, but your refusal to give it will not stop us."

Garrett looked fit to explode. Again releasing herself from Murdoch's protective embrace, Catherine took hold of her father's hand. Her grey-blue eyes met his with the same extraordinary calmness they had shown in the Eliots' garden two weeks earlier. "Father, I want you to come with me over by that tree. I want to talk to you in private."

Waving Murdoch away, Catherine led her father across the lawn to the shade of a large chestnut tree. As he could no longer hear what father and daughter were saying, he returned to the others. They stood in silence watching the tête-à-tête for some time, but eventually began to talk amongst themselves.

"Father, how could you!" Beth said reproachfully.

"How could I not, Beth? I am a father. It would kill me if you ran off like that. How could I not tell him where his daughter was?"

"It's not the same. Mr Garrett is so strict and unbending and … "

"Harlan Garrett may need to learn that to keep the love of his child and to have her come back willingly when she needs him, he has to let her go, but he has a right to know of his daughter's wedding and be at it if he chooses. If he decides not to be part of the ceremony, so be it. He will have no one to blame then but himself. Catherine and Mr Lancer are of age and can make it happen regardless if they love each other well enough, but to marry behind her father's back is dishonest. It is no way to start a marriage."

"But Father …."

"No, Beth. Your father is right." Murdoch turned to James McIntyre and offered his hand. "Thank you, sir. I am in your debt. I will marry Catherine as long as she will still have me, but we will do it honestly and honourably. I will not be the one to deny her contact with her father."

Their conversation declined into polite murmurs as they waited for Catherine and Garrett. The minister, recognising that time and further discussion would be needed before any ceremony took place, had already retreated into his church to work on his sermon for Sunday. After about twenty minutes, Catherine kissed her father on the cheek and crossed the lawn alone. With the barest shake of her head, she indicated she did not wish to talk. The little group was plunged into total silence. The black figure of Harlan Garrett stood under the chestnut tree with his back to them, gazing into nothingness.

Finally he came towards them, his face grim. Catherine slipped her arm through Murdoch's and met her father face on. "Well, Father, what is your decision? Will you give me away?"

Garrett looked bewildered and defeated. Murdoch almost pitied the man. With a curt nod, Harlan Garrett held out his arm to his daughter. Exchanging Murdoch for her father for the last time, Catherine Garrett entered the Roxbury Unitarian Church with a calm grace. The bridegroom and witnesses followed in their wake.

The ceremony was a little shorter than the elaborate event Harlan Garrett had probably envisaged for his only daughter, but perhaps more beautiful and meaningful, because of it. Mr Garrett played his part with reserved dignity, passing Catherine's hand into Murdoch's at the required time with no further protest. Grey-blue met darker blue as Catherine and Murdoch gave their vows, and it was not long before Mr and Mrs Murdoch Lancer and their wedding party were again gathered outside the church.

"Will you come with us for a bite to eat at the hotel, sir?" Murdoch asked his father-in-law.

"No, thank you. I think I need to return to Boston." First kissing his daughter, Garrett offered Murdoch his hand. "Take care of her, Lancer. She is the most precious treasure in my life."

The wedding party watched the buggy disappear around the corner and then walked together to the hotel where the young couple would spend their first night as husband and wife. James McIntyre remained with them. He would return to Boston with his daughter after the meal. When the time came to pay, Murdoch removed his wallet, but McIntyre reached out to stop him opening it.

"No, Mr Garrett knows his duty. He left me money to pay for this and it is his right as father of the bride to do so. I'm sure you would agree?"

Their friends departed, and Murdoch and Catherine retired to their room early. Their wedding night was everything they could have hoped for and everything it deserved to be after a marriage in the presence of family and friends. The intrigue and tumultuous events of the previous few days were forgotten. They fell into each other's arms behind closed doors with all the love and passion a good romance novelist could desire. On Saturday no one saw them before noon, and then they enjoyed rambling about the countryside together until joining the Telfords for dinner in the evening. Their ship was due to sail late Sunday morning. They would hire a horse and cab to the pier, and from there begin their journey to California.

"Father, I'm so glad you came to see us off." Catherine hugged her father and he hugged her back.

"I thought you would want your things," he said quietly. The two male servants who had accompanied him to Mrs Merriweather's were now busy unloading trunks and hatboxes from a wagon that had followed Garrett's carriage into the dockyard. "I had Jemima pack everything she thought you might want. She said you had already taken your jewellery. You should ask the captain to lock that away in his cabin."

"I'll speak to a ship's officer about getting the luggage taken aboard." Murdoch left Catherine and her father to say their goodbyes in private. He was pleased Garrett had come, but he was equally pleased to have something to do, which enabled him to avoid polite conversation. He still felt rather awkward around his father-in-law.

By the time he came back, Beth had also arrived on the wharf to say her goodbyes, escorted by one of her brothers. Sharing the conversation, they took the pressure off Murdoch and made it easier for him to talk with Harlan Garrett normally.

"How long will the journey take to California?" Garrett asked.

"About six weeks," replied Murdoch. "We're taking the shortest route, crossing the Isthmus of Panama not going around the Horn. We'll disembark at Monterey or Yerba Buena, depending on the ship we catch on the Pacific side. If you want to write to Catherine, just send your letters care of my bank. They send my mail on when a ship leaves Boston for either destination."

"I'll do that. I've paid $1000.00 into your account. No, don't say you won't accept. It is my wedding present. A man has a right to give his daughter a wedding present. Let Catherine use some of it to furnish her new home. God knows, she'll want a few comforts. She's just a girl, Lancer. She doesn't realise what she's going to."

"I think Catherine is more mature than you give her credit for, sir, but thank you. The money will be hers to spend as she chooses."

"Take care of her, Lancer. I'll not apologise for trying to stop the marriage. I still believe I was right, but it's done, so now I challenge you to prove me wrong. Prove to me that Catherine marrying you was not a mistake."

The final call to board came at last and after a flurry of hugs, handshakes and best wishes, Murdoch and Catherine made their way up the gangplank. The _Amazonian _cast off and glided out into the bay. The young couple stood side by side at the rail as family and friends receded into the distance. A tear trickled down Catherine's cheek. "I'm being silly."

Murdoch smiled and kissed her. "Mmm, salty."

"Oh, you!" Catherine laughed, hitting him playfully. He drew her into his arms and looked lovingly into her upturned face.

"You know your father still thinks we were wrong to marry?" Murdoch said, suddenly serious again.

"I know." Catherine moved back to the rail and gazed towards Boston.

"You never told me how you convinced him to give you away. What did you say to him under that chestnut tree?"

"Oh, I told him I loved you. I told him that even though I loved him too, if he made me choose, I would follow my heart."

"But hadn't you already said that?"

"Perhaps I said it with greater conviction. Or perhaps..." Catherine looked impishly up at her husband. "Perhaps it was because I said I take after my father. When I want something badly enough I get it."

Murdoch chuckled. "I begin to see you in a whole new light, Mrs Lancer. You do know, though, you and your father are not the only ones who get what they want?"

"Really, Mr Lancer, and what is it that you want?"

"Well, Mrs Lancer," Murdoch replied, offering Catherine his arm. "If you will allow me to escort you to our cabin, I'll show you."


	17. From H to H Chap17 Good To Be Home

From Highlands to Homecoming by Margaret P.

_(With thanks to betas Terri Derr and Anna Orr)_

Chapter Seventeen: Good to Be Home (Words: 2,515)

"Bienvenido a casa, Señor Lancer." José Ramos was the first to greet Murdoch and Catherine when they arrived at the Estancia Lancer.

"It's good to be home, José," Murdoch replied, jumping from the wagon. He grinned broadly at his foreman. He was back at Lancer and about to surprise everyone. Helping Catherine down, he introduced her. "I'd like you to meet my wife. Catherine, this is José Ramos, one of my most valued men."

"Me siento honrado, Señora Lancer. Welcome."

The news of their arrival spread like wildfire. A message was sent to Paul O'Brien, who was culling cattle on the range. He was not yet aware of the deal Murdoch had struck with New England Enterprises, but it had always been the plan to drive a herd through to Yerba Buena in the late spring.

"We've been preparing for the cattle drive as you instructed, Patrón," José informed Murdoch as he helped him carry the luggage immediately needed inside. Two ranch hands would deal with the rest. "We thought you'd make it back about now."

The wives and children of the ranch gathered in the yard from every direction. They hovered in small groups, shyly smiling at their new mistress. Murdoch took Catherine by the hand and introduced them one at a time. The new Mrs Lancer's eyes sparkled with pleasure as she greeted each person.

"This is Estella, who has kept me fed and watered so well these past months, and these are her younger children: Maria, Ramón, Pablo, Magdalena and Vittoria. Her husband, Juan, and her two older boys Juanito and Alberto work as vaqueros here."

"Hola, Estella—children. I hope you will keep helping in the house, Estella. This is a new life for me and I will need all the help I can get." The two women smiled uncertainly at each other and then Catherine added, "Perhaps Maria would like to be my maid? I could teach her what is required of a lady's maid, and I can see she is interested in clothing."

Maria, who at sixteen took great care over her own appearance, had been surreptitiously appraising what Catherine was wearing and how she did her hair. She withdrew her eyes quickly from the cartridge pleats, which created the bell shape of Catherine's gown. Her cheeks reddened slightly with embarrassment as she looked hopefully between Catherine and Estella. "Oh si, por favour, Señora. Mama?"

"I think I am going to stop there and let the rest of you introduce yourselves another day," Murdoch said as Estella nodded her permission. "We've had a long journey and Señora Lancer is tired."

The voyage from Boston to California had taken a little over six weeks. As newly-weds, they had found entertainment in their own company and for Murdoch the time at sea went faster than ever before. Catherine had not complained once, despite the discomforts of travelling through mosquito-infested Panamanian jungle and weeks at sea. She even took it upon herself to help care for the crew when a broken spinnaker caused several sailors to be injured. Murdoch was more proud of her than he could express and his doubts about her adapting to her new life were lessened.

After a few days with Herman and Consuelo Richter in Monterey, Murdoch had purchased a wagon and horses to carry them and Catherine's belongings to the Estancia Lancer. Murdoch hoped Garrett had sent something more useful than fine silk dresses and fripperies. His father-in-law had not gone into detail about what had been packed, implying that he had left it mostly up to the maid. During their journey Catherine had made do with the few things she had packed herself in her carpet bag, so the contents of the chests and boxes remained a mystery.

"It will be like Christmas when we finally open the crates and luggage. I didn't know I had so many possessions," Catherine had laughed as Murdoch and a sailor hauled the final crate up onto the wagon. "I can't help thinking Father has sent more than my personal belongings."

Harlan Garrett had indeed dispatched more than a few personal belongings. The crate, which had needed two men to lift onto the wagon, turned out to be full of books. On the evening after their arrival home, Murdoch picked up a few on top of the now open packing case and read their spines. "Emerson, Dickens and this one is a history of Boston. We will have to make a bigger bookshelf to house them all."

"Well actually, I was thinking we could fit shelves all along here." With a wide sweep of her arm Catherine indicated the end wall between the archway to the kitchen and the front entrance. "With the dining table here, there is not a lot this wall can be used for, but it would be perfect for a bookcase. We both enjoy reading, so I'm sure we'll get more books. And I could display our photographs and have vases of flowers. What do you think? Is there a carpenter at the ranch?"

Murdoch laughed at the glee in his wife's eyes. "I'll get José to send someone to you tomorrow and you can show him what you want. Perhaps now is a good time to do something about the rest of the house too. Would you like to take on the task?"

"Oh yes. I would love that!" Catherine exclaimed. Grabbing Murdoch by the hand, she tugged him through to one of the guest rooms. "I would need someone to do the plastering and painting, but Maria and I could make curtains and other furnishings."

Pulling him back to the great room she lifted the lid of a black leather trunk. "Look in here. This is the linen I was saving in my bottom drawer. I can use some of it in here and the rest in the bedrooms."

"Jemima seems to have packed everything," Murdoch observed, going back to the books. Now here was a surprise—Edgar Allan Poe. Murdoch doubted the book belonged to Catherine. Jemima must have packed it by accident. "I think I'll keep this out to read tonight."

"I think the books and my sheet music must have been Father's idea. He may have opposed our marriage, but he's been very thoughtful. My sewing box is here, some silverware and these miniatures of Father and Mother. He knew I was fond of those little portraits. Jemima may have thought of my clothes and linen, but she would never have packed the rest unless Father told her to." Delving into another box just opened, Catherine extracted a small white and gold china tea cup and the last vestiges of child-like excitement gave way to a wistful sigh. "Oh my, this was my mother's favourite tea set."

While Catherine and Maria unpacked and planned the refurbishments, Murdoch met with his foremen and was brought fully up-to-date with how everything was going. He paid the wages and bills owing from the previous months, and then inspected the ranch. Paul O'Brien had proved to be a reliable and efficient Segundo. When Murdoch told him of the need to drive at least five hundred head to Yerba Buena by May 29th, he was unfazed. "I was working on one thousand, as we discussed before you left. We have been rounding them up for about ten days. Six hundred are now grazing on the south mesa. Another day or two we will have the rest, and it will likely take us a week to drive them to port."

"Good man. In that case we leave Monday. José, you remain here to look after the ranch and Mrs Lancer. Don't let her ride out alone. It's not safe." Murdoch had been concerned to learn of an increase in small raids on his herds. O'Brien and his men had thwarted at least two attempts to steal cattle in the past month, but he was fairly sure they had lost a few to the gangs of marauders that hid in the neighbouring hills.

The cattle drive to Yerba Buena began at sunrise with Murdoch, O'Brien, a cook, two gunhawks and eight vaqueros. The chuck wagon and another ox-drawn cart laden with the tallow and the two hundred hides rendered and cured at Lancer the previous year. Travelling at a steady pace they covered ten to fifteen miles a day, allowing the cattle time to rest and graze along the way

"Not a good idea to drive them faster," O'Brien explained. "What you'd save in time, you'd lose in the sale price. Probably not as important for hides and tallow as it is when they're being sold for their meat, but even so. If you want them at a healthy weight, it's better to take it slow."

On the third day, rustlers attempted to cut some steers from the herd, but Murdoch's hired guns had seen their approach and were ready for them. One rustler was injured and the rest scared off. It took time to settle the herd, but the drive continued without further incident.

The cook had been hired by O'Brien in Murdoch's absence. Archibald McGillicuddy was a Kerry man, fresh off a whaler that had docked in the San Francisco Bay soon after Murdoch had left for Boston. Cuddy, as he was known, was aged about forty with an Irish accent as broad as a leprechaun's. He was only five feet four, could barely sit a horse let alone wrangle a cow, and walked with a limp—the story of which varied with every telling. As unsuited as he appeared to be for ranch work, he had argued that with a name like O'Brien, Kansas-born Paul could not refuse to employ him.

"Sure us Irish have to stick together. I'm a jack-of-all trades and I make a fair stew, though I do say so meself."

Paul had given Cuddy chores around the yard and house on a trial basis. He had proved a good worker, mending tack, forking hay, feeding the hogs and digging over the land out back of the kitchen in preparation for a vegetable patch.

"He's a bit of a rascal, but his first efforts as cook were edible. He knows how to splint a man's leg, and he can spin a tale from here to Ireland, so I put him in charge of the chuck wagon. I hope that's all right, boss?"

Murdoch dug into his plate of stew before answering. "He'll do."

The Lancer cattle arrived at their destination with three days to spare. Some animals were penned in the corrals constructed near the shore and the rest were herded onto grassland a little further north to wait their turn. A brig called the _Providence_ was at anchor in the harbour. Several crewmen were busy in the slaughter yards: killing, stripping the skins and rendering the fat into tallow. Just as it had been at Lancer when they had processed their own cattle, the air was rank and humming with flies. Hides staked out to dry in the sun stood nearby like an army on parade.

Other sailors were working in relay to carry already dry hides to the boats, which would in turn deliver them to the _Providence_. Dried hides were folded in half and stacked on the beach. Balancing one or two at a time on their heads to keep them out of the water, seamen waded through the surf to where the rowboats were moored. Those on board stood ready to stow the hides away, and when the boat could hold no more, the sailors manned the oars and rowed out to the brig.

Murdoch made his way to the trading post on the hill. "What company owns the _Providence_?" he asked the proprietor.

"New England Enterprises and I'm its agent,' replied a balding man getting up from a table in the corner. "Josiah Brown's the name. Would you by chance be Lancer?"

"I am, sir. I contracted with Edward Kirby in Boston to supply five hundred steers. There are five hundred more if you want them. I also have two hundred hides and several bags of tallow."

Eager to fill the Providence's hull, the agent accompanied Murdoch back down the hill to inspect the herd. Brown appeared pleased with what he saw. He purchased all the hides and tallow, and two hundred more bullocks. They had just concluded the transaction when the cry was heard announcing the arrival of another vessel, and a clipper sailed around the point into view.

"That will be the _Monique_. We've been playing cat and mouse up and down the coast for the past month," the agent informed Murdoch. "She's owned by the Hudson Bay Company. Their agent is certain to purchase your remaining cattle. I will be back here with the_ Providence_ late July and September if you have more to sell."

The men from Lancer stayed in Yerba Buena to control the herd until there was enough room in the holding pens. Murdoch paid them their wages and bought the first round of drinks at the cantina before heading back to the ranch. O'Brien and two vaqueros rode with him, leaving Cuddy and the others to follow in their own time after cutting the wolf loose for a few days.

"Welcome home!" Catherine threw herself into his arms as Murdoch dismounted. He wrapped his arms around her, savouring this new kind of homecoming. After allowing herself to be soundly kissed, Catherine led Murdoch by the hand into the hacienda. "Come and see what we've done."

The first thing to catch his eye was the fireplace. It had been re-plastered with the Lancer brand worked into its centre. The plaster was still slightly damp.

"We only thought of it yesterday. We weren't sure when you would make it home, but Pedro worked on it until late in the evening just in case."

Turning towards his wife, Murdoch then saw the dining end wall of the great room now boasted an impressive bookcase. The books from Catherine's father took up only a quarter of the space available, but on the other shelves Catherine had placed ornaments, vases or pictures, including the two she and Murdoch had exchanged back in Boston. There were now several cushions on the sofa and chairs, embroidered cloths on the tables and drawers, and some paintings and a mirror on the other hitherto bare walls.

"We visited Morro Coyo and bought fabric. We've made new curtains for our bedroom, and we are making more for the guest rooms in the west wing. Pedro has been working hard plastering and painting, so two of those rooms will soon be habitable. He says he can build some beds and chairs to use until we can buy something more crafted."

Murdoch smiled at his wife's enthusiasm. She had achieved a lot in a short time, and the great room in particular, had a much more comfortable feel to it. He collapsed into an armchair and pulled her down into his lap. "It all looks wonderful. It's good to be home."


	18. From H to H Chap18 Catherine

From Highland to Homecoming by Margaret P.

_(With thanks to betas Terri Derr and Anna Orr)_

Chapter 18: Catherine (Words: 3,637)

"Oh, let me sit down," Catherine gasped, laughing as Murdoch twirled her round the dance floor for what seemed like the hundredth time. "I haven't danced this much since my twenty-first. I'm out of practice."

"You and Señora Lancer put on a fine display," complimented Don Frederigo Caldera Palmero, as the couple left the dance floor and approached the tables laden with food and drink.

"Thank you, sir. You put on an excellent fandango," Murdoch replied. He helped Catherine to a glass of punch and then helped himself to more turkey with mole poblano. He had built up an appetite.

The festivities following the marriage of Angela Caldera Martinez to Capitán Diego Perez Rodrigues were being held in the vast courtyard in front of the Hacienda Caldera and under the equally large tent, which adjoined it. Several hundred guests, most with no formal invitation, were in attendance. The local townsfolk mixed with visitors like the Lancers from further afield, and the lowliest servant shared the dance floor with the wealthiest landowners. The older women sat in rows gossiping and applauding the young people as they danced the evening away to the music of guitars and violins.

As invited guests, Murdoch and Catherine were staying at the hacienda. They had been made very welcome by Doña Mercedes and the bride Angela Caldera Martinez. Neither woman spoke much English, but goodwill, hand signals and facial expression had allowed them to communicate with their new American neighbour in the early days of their acquaintance, and now a year after her arrival in California Catherine was counted as a friend. Murdoch took great pleasure in seeing his wife being accepted as part of their world. He had worried that Catherine would be lonely, isolated as she was by language as well as distance from the kind of society she had been used to in Boston.

That Catherine had found it difficult in the first few months had been evident. She had her sheet music, but no instrument upon which to play. There were no theatres, libraries or art galleries to visit, and the shopping available in Morro Coyo and Green River did not compare to Boston. Although the neighbouring Californios spoke some English, their women-folk spoke virtually none and unlike the Calderas, many were not inclined to make an effort to be welcoming. Catherine made good progress with her Spanish, and could manage reasonably well one on one, but she soon lost track of conversation in a group situation with several different people talking at once. Besides, most of these wealthier neighbours were at least half a day's ride away and the dangers of travelling had not diminished.

Of the American and other English-speaking women within an easy reach of Lancer, none were from the same social class. On one level that did not matter. They were in the main friendly, and Catherine enjoyed their company. They were not only ranchers' wives, but mostly, ranchers' or farmers' daughters. They knew about churning butter, making preserves and plain dressmaking; things that Catherine knew little about. They shared their knowledge generously, and she was eager to learn. Murdoch sensed, however, that Catherine yearned for something more, a 'Beth', to whom she could talk about less practical interests like literature, music and the little dramas of life. She had him of course, but he acknowledged, and was not offended by the idea, that he was not enough. She needed someone, a woman, who shared her background and understood the challenges she faced. No one was more pleased than Murdoch, when shortly before Christmas that someone arrived in the form of a mail order bride.

Sarah Johnson was in her late twenties, a gentleman's daughter from Rhode Island. She was educated and shared Catherine's love of music. She also came equipped with an up-right piano, the one luxury she had allowed herself from her former life. Unlike Catherine, she had married purely for practical reasons, to gain a home of her own after her father's death and her independence from her supercilious brother. She had corresponded with Daniel Johnson, the owner of Green River's mercantile, for over a year before finally agreeing to be his wife. Fortunately there had been honesty and pragmatism on both sides, so that when they finally met and married in Monterey three days after her arrival, there were no inconvenient revelations. Sarah and Daniel Johnson respected and liked each other, and hoped with time genuine affection would grow. For Catherine, Sarah was a lifeline to a world she had left behind.

"Even though I'll never fully understand how she could marry a man she'd never met, I value Sarah's friendship greatly," Catherine admitted to Murdoch as they drove back to Lancer one evening after dining with the Johnsons.

"Daniel is a good man. I agree mail order is not an ideal way of obtaining a wife, but it seems to be working for them. Not everyone can be as fortunate as us." Tucking her arm through his, Catherine had kissed his cheek and snuggled into him. He was a lucky man.

Murdoch had observed time and familiarity ease the difficulties Catherine faced. An eagerness to learn and adapt had helped her settle into her role as mistress of the Estancia Lancer. She had continued to refurbish the hacienda. An extra wardrobe had been constructed to hold her gowns and Maria cared for them with reverence.

"Señora Lancer says you are doing a wonderful job, Maria. I am grateful to you for helping her to settle in," Murdoch said one day soon after bringing Catherine home to Lancer.

"Oh Patrón, the Señora is bueno. She has such beautiful things. I am so glad she has come to live here."

Catherine's gowns were usually only worn in the evening. Silk taffeta and French lace were not well suited to ranch work, and Catherine was determined to be useful as well as decorative. She bought cotton fabric and serge and with Maria's help sewed herself more serviceable daywear.

Murdoch was also proud to see her making a great effort to get to know all the families on the estate, especially the women. Catherine was used to having servants and conscious of her own lack of skill when it came to basic household chores. She was not tempted to do without Estella or Maria's help in the house, but she worked with them. She instructed Maria on the care of her dresses and hair, and taught her the ways of polite society, but also encouraged Estella and Maria to teach her what she did not know. She listened to the concerns of the vaqueros' wives, worked beside them and helped when they had difficulties. She acted as the women's representative to her husband to achieve little improvements to their lives, and in doing so won their respect and affection.

"It would make life so much easier if there was a well by the workers' cottages, Murdoch. At the moment the women have to fetch water from the stream."

"I think we could manage that. I wonder why they never asked before."

"They're not used to asking for things for themselves. It is their custom not to complain."

Murdoch knew that it was Catherine's custom not to complain too, so he tried to be alert to her moods. It was not always easy, because the ranch frequently demanded his full attention. One thing he could do for his wife was to ensure she received news from her family and friends as often as possible. Whenever he heard of a neighbour visiting Monterey or Yerba Buena, he would ask them to enquire about letters for Lancer. Richter in Monterey and Richardson in Yerba Buena knew he would pay for the delivery of letters rather than have mail wait any length of time. There were always trappers and vaqueros willing to divert slightly from their direct route for a small fee. The pleasure Catherine got when letters arrived was its own reward.

"Murdoch, you'll never guess, this big bear-like man came knocking on the kitchen door. He gave us such a fright. All you could see of him through the hair and the furs were his eyes and the most enormous hands. And the smell! It was all right though. He was just bringing us some letters. He wouldn't take any money, but he ate two platefuls of Estella's chilli and drank an entire jug of beer."

"So what news?" Murdoch followed Catherine into the great room.

"Your business letters are on your desk, but there are letters here from your mother and Ben, and finally I have received one from Beth. I was beginning to worry. The delay is all explained however. She is in love!"

"Well, that would explain why she hasn't put pen to paper," Murdoch agreed, smiling. "Who is the lucky man?"

"A doctor called Robert Eliot."

"Eliot. Any relation to your would-be admirer?"

"As a matter of fact, yes. He is a cousin, Dorothea Buchanan's older brother recently moved back to Boston from New York. Listen to this."

_I am appalled at my own weakness. To be attracted to a man from one of the best families in Boston, goes against all my principles. My parents are surprised and delighted. I shall be respectable at last. Dottie is overjoyed of course, because we shall be sisters. You will not remember Robert. Somehow we never met while Dottie was in Boston. He was at university when we first became friends with her at school, and he was not able to be at her wedding. He is handsome, intelligent and in every way the man for me. Wish me well, dear Catherine, because by the time this letter reaches you I may already be Mrs Robert Eliot and every bit as happy as Mrs Murdoch Lancer._

"I am glad for her." Murdoch hugged Catherine. "Beth deserves to be happy. I'll always be grateful to her. What has Ben to say for himself."

"I didn't open his letter. I was waiting for you, though it is addressed to us both."

Settling down in his favourite armchair with Catherine on his lap, Murdoch opened the letter from Ben Telford, and began to read. "He leaves Roxbury at last. I was beginning to think he'd got stuck."

_I have invested in a covered wagon and kitted it out with the tools of my trade. I will travel west until I find my Utopia. Who knows maybe I'll get as far as California._

"Do you think he will come as far as California?"

"Not unless there is a population explosion. Ben has aspirations to be more than just a self-employed bootmaker. He will likely settle in a growing town where there are already a fair few people."

Setting Ben's letter aside, Murdoch opened his mother's letter. His sister Maggie was expecting again, the laird's daughter had become engaged to a Sassanach, old Mrs McLeod from Invermay had died in her ninety-fifth year, and a fox had got into the hen house. His grandfather was going to retire.

_His eyes are failing, so the offer to buy the business could not have come at a better time. Do you remember Jamie Robertson? He was apprenticed to Da about ten years ago. Da strung the poor lad along for a day or two, but the sale is now agreed._

At the end of her letter there was a post-script in a different scrawl.

_John Cameron Lancer was born 16 February, 1844 at Glenbeath. The bairn and my bonnie lass are both well, thanks be to God. We shall call him 'Cam', because Elspeth says it is too confusing to have two Johns in one house. Even if we call the wee one 'John' instead of 'Jock, she will not have it. She grew up with 'Big Angus' and 'Little Angus' and the experience has made her stubborn. I should put my foot down as man of the house, but I am as proud as a father can be and I have not the heart to argue with her. _

_My best to Catherine and yourself._

_Jock._

It was lucky the letters arrived when they did, because Murdoch and Catherine were to leave for the Caldera-Perez wedding in only a few days.

Maria was overjoyed when Catherine asked her to make ready the pale blue gown pictured in the photograph on the bookshelf. Even Murdoch knew Maria loved that gown. Her mistress had not worn it since arriving at Lancer, because there had been no occasion special enough to require it. Maria was carefully hanging the dress up to air when Catherine and Murdoch entered the bedroom soon after breakfast to find a tie that Murdoch declared was not in his drawer—someone must have moved it.

"And what will you wear, Maria?" Catherine asked, extracting the missing tie from under a handkerchief and presenting it to her husband.

"Señora?"

"What will you wear at the fandango?"

"You want me to come too, Señora?"

"But of course. Did you think I trained you to be a lady's maid only to leave you behind when I most needed you? You will do my hair and help me dress, and then you will be free to join the fandango yourself. So what will you wear, Maria?"

Catherine and Murdoch shared a smile to see the young maid's excitement, but then Maria realised that she had nothing suitable for such an event. Her joy turned to anxiety.

"I have always thought my gold dress would suit you better than me. I am sure we could alter it to fit. What do you think?"

With Estella's help, they added lace to the bodice and shortened the sleeves of Catherine's gold silk gown. Murdoch was shooed out of his own bedroom by his housekeeper two days later as with a mouth full of pins, Catherine knelt at her maid's feet and adjusted the length of the hem.

"You should take a servant to help you dress too, Murdoch," Catherine suggested over dinner that evening. "What about Cipriano?"

Murdoch nearly choked on his wine. "Cipriano is a vaquero not a valet! Besides I am perfectly capable of dressing myself, thank you." Then afraid from his wife's expression that he had upset her, he added, "Cipriano can come with us to help with the horses. Will that do?"

Actually he had always intended to take someone with them. The roads were not safe, and one man with two women would be a target for bandits. Cipriano was as good as anyone. He was not bad with a gun and more so he looked the part. Besides there were going to be many guests at the wedding, and Caldera's vaqueros would have more work than they could cope with. It would give Murdoch peace of mind to know he had his own man to call upon if needed.

Cipriano had been happy to come, and from the little Murdoch had seen of him since the wedding ceremony, he seemed to be enjoying himself. That said he was standing now on the far side of the courtyard with a less than happy look on his face. He seemed to be watching one of Don Allende's younger sons waltz around the dance floor with Maria. She was clearly having a wonderful time. Murdoch much preferred the Californian custom where servants and their employers all mixed together at celebrations. There was something of a family feel about it that reminded him of the Scottish clans.

Suddenly Cipriano stopped hovering in the back ground and stepped forward. Somewhat awkwardly he cut in on the young don, who bowed politely to Maria and took his leave. Maria did not seem to object to the change, her eyes sparkled as she resumed the dance with her new partner.

"Finally! I was beginning to think he would never get up the courage." Catherine opened her fan and smiled broadly behind it.

"What do you mean? What?"

Catherine looked at him with amused exasperation. "For an intelligent man, Murdoch Lancer, you can be woefully unobservant."

Murdoch was saved further teasing by his wife as Don and Doña Caldera came to seek them out. Doña Mercedes took Catherine away to socialise with the other principal ladies while Murdoch and Don Caldera went to discuss business.

All the landowners in the San Joaquin had gathered, ostensibly for the wedding, but big and small, they had serious matters to discuss. Leaving the festivities behind, Murdoch entered the gran sala with Don Caldera. They joined about twenty other men. The owners of the larger estates were mostly Californios, but among the owners of the medium to small ranches there were Americans and other more recent settlers as well.

"I am losing cattle every week," complained Don Caldera, opening proceedings. "Some of my best vaqueros have been injured, and my foreman tells me one or two of my hands are talking of leaving."

"The stream that runs through my land was dammed. I had to divert men to clear the debris, and twenty head were stolen while they were doing it," growled a ranchero called Lopez, whom Murdoch had not met. "The banditos are getting out of control. We need soldiers to deal with them."

A rumble of agreement followed this statement. Several men called out other grievances to emphasize the need. The rustlers or land-grabbers or whatever they ultimately hoped to be had got beyond all reasonable control, at least in some areas.

"If we were part of the United States, we would have lawmen here," declared one of the Americans.

"Let's not start that sort of talk, Señor," interjected Don Allende. "We haven't yet asked the Mexican government for help. I suggest we do that now. I will write a letter to the governor requesting support, and we will all sign it. Once the government is made aware of our problem and knows that its citizens are united, I am confident that it will send us assistance."

The petition was written and signed by all present, and in addition the ranch owners agreed to cooperate with each other. No ranchero would knowingly allow rustlers to take refuge on their land, and any cattle straying from neighbouring properties would be returned. Vaqueros in pursuit of rustlers would be permitted to pass through unimpeded and given whatever assistance the other ranch could spare. While it would be impossible to stop men leaving if they chose to do so, no ranchero would actively seek to poach workers from their less fortunate neighbours.

"And so we will struggle on and hope for some government assistance," Murdoch explained to O'Brien and Ramos upon his return. "I want guards posted with every herd. When we hold the next cattle drive, we will bring the main herd as close to the hacienda as we can so that it is easier for those remaining to protect them."

Four months passed but no help was offered by the governor. The ranchers of the San Joaquin Valley met again and a delegation was elected to visit him in Monterey. It was to no avail. The governor declared his hands were tied. Central government would not release funds or soldiers to protect the interests of Californian ranch owners.

"Señor Lancer, there is a price to be paid for the generosity shown to you and many other rancheros, who have been granted more land. You must establish law and order yourselves."

"That was never one of the conditions. Mexico makes good money from the duties it levies on the foreign vessels that purchase hides and tallow from us. All we're asking for is a show of support, for some government-backed law enforcement to make arrests, to make the culprits face justice." Murdoch spoke with feeling. His eyes flashed as he leaned forward over the governor's desk, and the governor drew back in his chair. Realising he appear threatening, Murdoch straightened up again and moved to the fireplace. Looking around at the supportive faces of the delegation, he turned again to the governor and in a calmer voice continued. "At the moment they steal our cattle, destroy crops and property at will. We are ranchers, Señor. We do not want to become vigilantes, but if the government will not help us, that is where we are heading. It is that or relinquish our property to thieves and land-grabbers."

The other rancheros vigorously agreed, but the governor appeared unsympathetic. Disheartened and angry, the men returned to their land.

"We will manage somehow," Catherine consoled her husband.

"I am afraid some will do so by going to bed with the devil," replied Murdoch. "A man called Haney has been approaching the worst affected offering them protection. He says he is a lawman—freelance—but I am afraid he is a ringmaster."

"You mean he is the ringleader; he controls the bandits?"

"No. Control is too strong a word—there are many bands with their own leaders and Haney has only appeared on the scene recently— but I fear he has found a way to manipulate the bandits to serve his own ends. They operate independently for the most part, but now they also dance to the direction of his whip. I hope I am wrong, because now there is no hope of government help, some landowners will undoubtedly pay Haney for his protection."

It went without saying that he would not join them, but if Murdoch was right, he feared Lancer would face more problems in future. Was he worrying unnecessarily? He had already faced several challenges and overcome them. What was one more? Murdoch Lancer would not be beaten by any man and certainly not by a lowlife like Jud Haney, even if he was cunning. After all what was the worst he could do?

Notes:

Yerba Buena is the old name for San Francisco.

Jud Haney appears in Yesterday's Vendetta, Lancer Series 1, Episode 16.


	19. From H to H Chap19 Jud Haney

From Highlands to Homecoming by Margaret P.

_(With thanks to my betas, Terri Derr and Anna Orr)_

Chapter Nineteen: Jud Haney (Words: 2,853)

"He's a rustler. We chased him from the Mendoza spread."

"If that's true, he can face justice in Monterey. I have men going there on business in a few days. Write your statements and they can take them and this man with them."

"Why go to all that trouble, Lancer, when we can take care of the matter."

"I've seen how you take care of such matters, Haney. There'll be no shooting in the back or lynching on Lancer land. Now take your men, and ride out."

"The other ranchers won't like it when I tell them you're harbouring bandits, Lancer. They employ me to keep the law around here. I do a pretty good job too. You just ask Joe Anderson. He was losing stock every week until he finally accepted my services last month. You'd be wise to follow his example."

"Or what? Will the raids on this place increase? That sounds like you might have something to do with the banditos, Haney."

"You have a nasty mind. All I'm saying is that if my men are protecting other ranches, it stands to reason the bandits will look for easier pickings and here is this vast estancia just sitting here with only a few vaqueros and women to protect it. Wouldn't want any harm to come to your womenfolk, now would you, Lancer?" With that Jud Haney urged his horse forward. He and his six companions rode away from the Hacienda Lancer, leaving Murdoch and his hands standing in a cloud of dust.

"Gracias, Señor. You are not wrong about Señor Haney. I have seen money change hands between Garcia and that hombre." The rustler looked up from where he knelt with hands tied. Murdoch stared at him, his mind elsewhere.

"Lock him in the old guardhouse until you are ready to go," he ordered O'Brien. "Make sure anything he could use to escape is removed." The guardhouse was built by the Spaniards long before even Talavera owned the land. It was the only lock-up in the county, but in Murdoch's time it had only ever been used for storage—he would have preferred to keep it that way.

Later, in the evening after Catherine read aloud a letter just received from her father, Murdoch broached a subject that had been on his mind for some time.

"I was thinking, perhaps it's time you went to visit your father. He must be lonely in Boston all by himself. Burke should be passing through soon. You could go back with him. You could take Maria with you."

"I don't want to leave you, Murdoch. My father will be buried in his business. He would make a fuss of me for a week, and then I would have nothing to do. California has spoilt me for sitting in drawing rooms and making polite conversation."

"But you would like to see Beth and her new husband, and you haven't been too well lately. I think the heat is affecting your health, and the summer hasn't even begun."

Catherine smiled and looked up from her embroidery with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. "I don't think it's the heat making me ill in the mornings, Murdoch. I was waiting to be sure, but Estella thinks I'm right. She should know. She's had seven."

Her meaning took a moment to sink in. Looking at his wife uncertainly, Murdoch just blurted out words like he was punch-drunk. "You're expecting a baby?"

"I think so," Catherine laughed. "Are you pleased?"

Recovering, Murdoch took Catherine in his arms. He wanted to laugh out loud and cry all at the same time. He had so wanted this moment. His heart was too full of emotion to speak. He kissed Catherine and let the smile on his face say it all.

Later there was time for reflection and the problem of Haney had not gone away. Murdoch knew he would have to fight Catherine and make her leave him. He did not want to do that. He did not really want her to go, but he took Haney's threat seriously. The raids on Lancer had already increased. With every landowner persuaded by coercion or desperation to pay Haney his protection money, the harassment of the ranches that held out intensified. Soon most of the smaller rancheros would have paid up or moved on, and Haney could concentrate on bringing the larger estates to heel. Catherine did not know how bad it was getting. He did.

"You must write to your father and tell him of the bairn."

"Soon, in another week or two when I'm absolutely sure."

He would wait until she wrote. If she would not agree to return to Boston with Alfred Burke, he knew the land agent would at least deliver her letter, and his. If Catherine would not go with Burke, Murdoch would write to his father-in-law and ask him to come and fetch her. There was time, and much as he hated to be apart from her, it would be safer for her to have the baby in Boston.

Catherine would not go with Burke. He called in a week later and offered to come back for her at the beginning of June. "I'll have you safe in Boston by August."

"You're very kind, Alfred, but I am not leaving Lancer. My place is with my husband, despite what he may say. Besides, I'm determined our son or daughter will be born here in California."

She was very angry with Murdoch when she found out about his letter to her father. After seeing Burke safely off Lancer land, he admitted to her what he had done. "It's for your own good, Catherine."

"Well, I shan't go, and you'll have to share a house with my father until the baby is born, because if he comes, he will not leave before the birth. You can be sure of that." She had thrown a cushion at him and flounced out of the room, but by nightfall she had thawed. By morning she was talking of all the attractions she would show her father when he arrived.

After the first three months, Catherine seemed to feel better, and from that point of view Murdoch became less concerned, but the situation with rustlers and marauders was worsening. There were several groups. Garcia's band took virtual control of the main road to Monterey from August, harassing travellers for whatever they had on them. Rivera, Vega and Castro were all well-known bandit chiefs, who seemed to range freely despite the presence of Jud Haney and his gang of 'lawmen'. Not surprisingly, the bandits had a definite preference for the ranches not under Haney's protection, but why would bandits burn buildings and feed crops to the ground? What profit was there in that? And why did such vandalism regularly target a rancher, who had only recently refused Haney's advances?

Haney's band of thugs did pursue and catch some alleged bandits. Occasionally Murdoch believed they were guilty. He objected strongly, however, to Haney's form of justice. Very few captives made it to Monterey to stand before a court. Most were 'taught a lesson' and let go, but by November at least two men had been shot 'by accident' trying to escape and three more had ended their days dangling from a noose within an hour of being apprehended by Haney's deputies. Then there were the unexplained accidents and deaths, attributable to persons unknown.

When they were not 'on duty', Haney and his men lounged around Morro Coyo, Green River and other small communities further afield drinking and tormenting the townsfolk. Several families moved away. Daniel Johnson would not let Sarah go out in the street alone when the gang was in town, and he sent her into the back room whenever they entered the store. Once in early fall, however, when her Lancer escort had been busy at the blacksmith's and Daniel had slipped across the road to the barber, Catherine was in the shop talking with Sarah, when they were surprised by the unexpected arrival of Haney and two of his men.

"Good afternoon, Mrs Lancer, Mrs Johnson. It's always a pleasure to meet such fine, up-standing ladies as yourselves." Haney leaned on the counter uncomfortably close to where Catherine stood while his men smirked and leered from the doorway. She could smell the stale tobacco smoke on his breath. "Rumour has it something stampeded one of the Lancer herds up by Dry Gully this morning. Some of them poor dogies ran straight over the bluff. Done broke their necks—I hear tell. Now if your husband employed the services of me and my deputies, ma'am, I'm sure such accidents could be avoided. It's a dang shame those poor animals had to die so needlessly."

"Can I help you, Mr Haney?" Sarah asked from the other side of the counter. "I was just about to shut the shop for half an hour, so I would appreciate it if we could deal with what you want to buy quickly."

Haney straightened and brushing against Catherine as he past, he wandered aimlessly around the store picking things up and then putting them down again. Finally he picked up a tin of tobacco and tossed a coin in front of Sarah. "That should cover it. Good day to you, ladies." He tipped his hat and grinned as he headed for the doorway. "Come on boys, I think we're making these respectable ladies nervous."

Murdoch was furious when he heard. He and several vaqueros had spent all afternoon in Dry Gully rescuing what was left of his cattle, shooting those with broken legs and burning the dead.

Attacks on Lancer were increasing. There had been a cattle drive in May and the ranch had lost nearly eighty steers in small raids while it was short-handed. Soon after that the outhouse of one of the worker's houses and a field of corn were mysteriously burnt to the ground. No less than three streams had since been affected by unexplained landslips. Rustlers attempted to steal from the south mesa in August and although they were scared off, two of his vaqueros were injured. When the news came that Don Jorge Marques Diego to the west of the Estancia Lancer had given up the battle and abandoned his land, four Lancer hands asked for their wages.

When Cuddy was found strung up from a tree outside a line shack, a dozen more followed.

"Sorry, Mr Lancer, but we didn't sign up to get ourselves killed."

"If you'll stay, I'll double your wages. We have another drive before the end of the season. I need you men."

"An extra dollar a day ain't no good to a dead man, sir."

By September Murdoch was impatient for news from Boston. Would his father-in-law come? It would need to be soon or it would be too late to go to Boston. Garrett could escort Catherine to Monterey though, and stay with her there until the baby was born. Between them they would persuade her, and there was a doctor at Monterey. Murdoch had taken Catherine there in July. The doctor had pronounced her well, thank God, but he would not be persuaded to visit her at Lancer. Too far away he said. "If when the time draws near you think your wife needs medical assistance, Señor, take her to Sutter's Fort. It is closer to your ranch, and there is an excellent midwife, Frau Grüber. What that woman doesn't know about birthing babies is not worth knowing. Otherwise, the Mexican women at your own estancia are experienced and will take good care of her. Believe me they are used to helping each other in childbirth."

In October, Murdoch suggested to Catherine they rent a house in Monterey. She could move there with Maria and a manservant, and Murdoch would visit when he could. "Once the baby is born and the doctor says you are both well enough, you could come back. I'm sure things will have settled down here by then." Catherine rejected the idea.

By November, there was still no sign or word from Garrett and Catherine was still determined to remain. The last of the American ranchers bowed down to Haney's harassment. Unwilling to pass over what remained of his money for protection, Eli Tucker packed the covered wagon he had used to get his family to California and headed north, stopping at Lancer on the way to say goodbye. "I've not got a herd left worth selling, Lancer, and Mary and the children are scared to death. When the bastards set light to the chicken coop, it was the last straw. In June Burke reckoned Sutter was looking for workers. Hopefully he still is, otherwise we'll move further north into Oregon. Maybe we'll come back later if things calm down."

In December, Lancer's barn mysteriously caught fire. The flames rampaged through the hayloft and the hands barely got the last of the horses out before the ceiling collapsed. Men and women fought the blaze with sacks and relayed buckets of water. They eventually reduced the building to a smouldering tower of charred timber, and stopped the fire from spreading. Exhausted Murdoch turned in horror to see his wife ashen-faced and soot-covered with one hand to her expanding waistline and the other steadying herself against the water trough.

"Catherine! My God woman, what were you thinking? Are you all right?"

"I wanted to help, but I think I've strained something. I don't feel so …" Murdoch caught her as she fainted and carried her into the hacienda. Estella rushed to get water and a cloth. Maria pulled the covers back and he lay Catherine down on their bed. He sat on the edge rubbing her hand while Maria applied a cold compress to her mistress's forehead.

Gradually Catherine came round. She smiled at the worried faces surrounding her. "I must have fainted. But I'm fine."

"You're not fine and you shouldn't be here. I'm sending you to Sutter's Fort. I should've made you go months ago."

"Don't fuss, Murdoch. I'm—"

"Not another word, Catherine. You promised to honour and obey me, and for once in your life you're going to do just that."

"And for once, I agree with your husband." Harlan Garrett stood in the doorway, dusty from travelling, hat in hand. "I came as quickly as I could. What has happened? I could see the smoke from several miles away. Are you injured?"

Coming round the bed, he sat down in the place Murdoch vacated for him and took hold of his daughter's hand. Catherine was overjoyed to see her father, but with both the men in her life united against her, she finally gave way. She agreed to be transported to Sutter's Fort, away from the raids and into some level of medical care.

A wagon was soon covered and equipped with a straw mattress and blankets. Catherine was ordered to lie on it. Under no circumstances was she to sit up front, no matter how well she claimed to feel. Maria was going with her in the wagon for company and to nurse her if necessary, but in truth Catherine did appear fully recovered. It was not a good time for Murdoch to leave Lancer, but he intended to accompany them all the same.

"Nonsense! You can't leave at the moment. You're needed here. I'll be perfectly all right with father and his men to escort us." Murdoch hesitated and his wife continued. "The baby is not due until the New Year, Murdoch. You are worrying unnecessarily. I will be fine."

In the end, he agreed, but only on the condition that Paul O'Brien went with them. Murdoch would join her at Sutter's Fort later as soon as things at the ranch improved or closer to the date the baby was due, whichever came first.

"I would have preferred Monterey and the doctor too, Harlan, but the roads in that direction are too dangerous at the moment. Dr Ruiz assured us Frau Grüber was an excellent midwife, so take her to Sutter's Fort. Paul will show you the way. Even taking the longer route to dodge the bandits, it's not as far and there are settlements in between where you can stay overnight. You shouldn't camp in the open if you can avoid it."

"Don't worry, Boss. I'll look after them." After tying his horse behind the wagon, Paul helped Maria up beside Catherine.

Murdoch kissed his wife farewell and held her close. "I love you," they whispered in unison. Laughing at their timing, they reluctantly broke apart and the wagon rolled forward.

Grim-faced Murdoch stood in the middle of the yard watching their slow progress along the road until the wagon disappeared out of sight. Harlan Garrett in his Boston suit and hat sat incongruously up front next to the burly form of the foreman. The two gunmen hired by Garrett in Monterey rode point. Turning back towards the blackened ruin of his barn, Murdoch took a deep breath and strode towards the next job.

Notes:

_Yesterday's Vendetta_, Series 1, Episode 16 features Jud Haney.

_The Lawman_, Series 1, Episode 5 mentions the history of the old guardhouse.


	20. From H to H Chap20 God Giveth and

From Highlands to Homecoming by Margaret P.

_(With thanks to my betas, Terri Derr and Anna Orr)_

Chapter Twenty: God Giveth and… (Words: 3,689)

Murdoch was on the south mesa when he spotted Paul O'Brien riding towards him. It was mid-morning and the winter sun hung low in the sky. He left his four wranglers to round up the frightened cattle they had just rescued from rustlers and rode to meet him.

"What's happened? Where's Catherine? Is she all right?"

Weary from riding all the previous day and most of the night, Paul's face belied the more optimistic tone of his first words. "Congratulations Murdoch. You have a son." Surprise, joy and then concern vied for control of Murdoch's mind as Paul continued. "We were only three miles from Carterville when the contractions started. We got Mrs Lancer to a farmhouse and the child was born in the early hours. He is well I think, but you need to go there quickly."

"What's wrong?"

"The farmer's wife did her best, but Mrs Lancer was still losing blood when I left at daybreak yesterday. The farmer rode to Sutter's to fetch the midwife and I came to get you."

Returning immediately to the hacienda, Murdoch called for a fresh horse and threw some supplies into his saddle bags. "You stay here. Get José to fill you in."

"Take the longer route out of here. Haney's lot are watching the main road. I risked it coming in, but I was lucky to make it through. They will be on the lookout now. You can make up some time further on by cutting through Devil's Canyon."

Murdoch mounted his horse and galloped north, only slowing to a more sustainable pace when he reach the rising ground of the hill track. Unable to see the trail clearly by the light of a quarter-moon he was forced to make camp for the night, but he was away again at dawn.

About ten miles from Carterville he took the shortcut through Devil's Canyon. He was halfway through the rugged gorge when a rifle shot rang out. The bullet grazed his shoulder, knocking him from his horse. More bullets peppered the ground, but he rolled to safety behind a tree and returned fire. The gunman was hiding in the rocks high above.

Spying a larger clump of trees to his right on the other side of open ground, Murdoch chose his moment and ran for a boulder part way across. No shots dogged him; the gunman must have been on the move too. Bracing himself Murdoch made a final dash to the grove, this time dodging rifle fire coming from half way down the slope. Shooting back once, he threw himself the final few yards into the undergrowth. Scrambling in behind the trees, he tried to catch his breath. Blast the man. Who was he? More importantly, where was he?

Falling rubble caused Murdoch to look up to the right where the gunman had originally been. Two small boys were peering over the top of a rock. There was no time to think about what they were doing there however, because the gunman was clambering down the bank on his left.

The bushwhacker must have thought he had killed Murdoch, because with little hesitation he came right up to where he had lost sight of his prey. Hoping simply to disarm him, Murdoch drew his gun and stepped out from the behind the tree. Startled, the man turned and fired. Murdoch automatically shot back. It was all over in a heartbeat, but a full minute elapsed before Murdoch took his next breath. The stranger lay motionless where he fell. Realisation made Murdoch retch—he had never killed a man before. He turned away. Bending forward with his hands on his knees, he breathed deeply until he brought his insides under control. Then he faced the man again.

Kneeling beside the body, Murdoch went through the stranger's pockets. His battered billfold contained nothing but a scrap of paper with the name 'Joel Deegan' written on it. Murdoch had seen such papers many times before. Wranglers and farmworkers carried them. When they were required to sign for their wages, they would pull out the paper and copy their signatures. There was no money. Robbery then; it was the only motive that made sense.

Remembering the two boys, Murdoch shouted up towards the rocks. "Come out. I won't hurt you."

There was no reply. His eyes searched the high ground for any sign of them or another adult, but he saw and heard no one. Exploring the canyon floor, he discovered a wagon attached to a mule and a crow-bait horse concealed amongst some trees and boulders nearby. He yelled again—still no response.

Returning to the dead man, Murdoch dragged the corpse to the wagon and hauled it up between the few supplies on board. He rearranged the canvas tarpaulin and weighted it down with rocks to prevent animals getting to the body. It was the best he could do for now. As soon as he could, he would come back, but he needed to get moving again. Catherine needed him. The burying would have to wait.

But the burying did not wait; only it was not the bushwhacker who was buried that day.

Murdoch reached Carterville just after dusk. A lantern drew him to a shack on the main road.

"Hello the house," he called as he approached.

"You Lancer?" asked the weather-worn farmer who appeared on the porch, shotgun in hand.

"Yes, is my wife here?"

"You'd best come in, man."

Dismounting, Murdoch tied his horse to the hitch-rail and hurried into the dimly lit cabin. A single candle on the table flickered. No one else was there. The stranger followed him inside and closed the door against the night.

"Where is she?" Murdoch peered through the gloom as the farmer placed his gun back on its rack and hung the lantern from a hook in the ceiling.

Joe Carter turned to face Murdoch with pity in his eyes. "I'm sorry mister, but you're too late. We buried your wife this morning."

Murdoch's world collapsed. For several minutes he stood motionless, staring at the man but not really seeing him. He saw Catherine—grey-blue eyes looking up at him from a Boston street step, sunlight reflecting off her ash-blond curls, the smile on her face when she told him she was expecting their child—and then blackness as the farmer's words sank in. He began to tremble. Carter put his hand out to steady him, but Murdoch shook him off. With one sweep of his arm he cleared the table, and the candleholder, tin plate and mug clattered across the timber floor. A single sob broke ranks as he gripped the back of a chair as though it was the only thing keeping him standing. Emotions and thoughts bombarded him. When eventually he found a way through them, he wanted to go for his son, to see Garrett, to find out what had gone so terribly wrong, but Carter held him back.

"You're father-in-law and the others left early. They took the baby with them. My sister-in-law helped with the birth—and with the laying out. Esther'll tell you what you need to know, but not now. Nothin' can be done 'til morning. She'll show you where we buried her and tell you what she knows in the morning."

Worn out by the journey and in shock from the news, Murdoch had no energy to argue. He stood like a soldier defeated in battle with the corpses of his friends lying all around him. The worst had happened and there was nothing he could do to change it. The farmer guided him to the far corner of the room and Murdoch slumped down onto a narrow bed. Leaning back against the wall, he stared blindly at the ceiling, a strange ringing in his head. Joe Carter picked up the candle and its holder from the floor. There was a gentle hiss as he relit the wick. He put the candle back on the table and took the lantern outside with him to settle Murdoch's horse for the night; even when he returned he kept the lantern light low. Under cover of darkness Murdoch wept until exhaustion deadened his mind and he slept fitfully.

In the morning he saddled his horse before the farmer rose and found his way to the cemetery alone. It was not far from the hamlet on a grassy knoll bordering the road going west. There were only a few graves and only one where the soil was still moist and bare. Esther Carter found him, still and staring, by the graveside after she had milked her cow and fed the chickens. She could not know what he was staring at. Only Murdoch knew he was watching Catherine sleep, as he had done many times before; waiting for the gentle rise and fall of her chest—waiting. He was willing her to wake up. He was waiting—willing that he would wake up.

Mrs Carter handed him a photograph. Murdoch gazed at the portrait dumbly. He recognised it. Catherine had had it taken in Monterey on their last visit, intending to give it to her father. Everything had been so rushed when they had left Lancer, she must have remembered the photograph at the last minute and packed it along with her clothes.

"This is all, mister. Said he was her father and took everything else, her belongings, everything."

"Did she suffer?"

"Wasn't there. He wouldn't let me take care of her."

Within a few hours of her husband riding for the midwife and O'Brien for Lancer, Harlan Garrett had decided Catherine could not wait for medical help or Murdoch to arrive. They would be better, he said, to travel onward to Sutter's Fort. If it was going to take Carter most of the day to get to the fort, the midwife would be unlikely to reach Carterville before the following day. Garrett reasoned that if they left immediately, with luck they would meet up with Carter and Frau Grüber before nightfall on the return trip. It would mean a night in the open, but with the medical assistance Catherine desperately needed. They could then travel together the next morning to Sutter's Fort where hopefully there would be better facilities than in Carterville.

"She wanted to wait for you, but he wouldn't listen," Mrs Carter told Murdoch. "Ordered his men to put her back in the wagon. Only the girl to look after her and the baby."

Catherine had died in the wagon only five miles out of town. The dirt road was uneven and pot-holed. The constant bumping and jarring of the wagon had been too much for her and they had been forced to stop. They could neither go forward nor back, and spent a desolate night under the early winter sky. Carter, the midwife and her son had found them on the side of the road soon after daybreak, but Catherine had breathed her last two hours before.

Mrs Carter had not been present of course, but her husband had told her the sad tale. The midwife had assessed the situation quickly and given her attention first to the child. She had declared the baby healthy, and then passing him into the arms of a tearful Maria, she had examined the mother. She had promised to record the birth and death when she returned to the fort, but there was nothing more she could do. Frau Grüber returned home with her son.

Garrett and the others had followed Carter back in slow procession to Carterville with the body. Unasked, Esther Carter had undertaken the laying out while her brother-in-law made the coffin. Garrett had visited the small cemetery on the hill with her husband to decide where Catherine should be laid to rest.

"He come back and paid me for my trouble, arranged for everything. Then left with the boy. That's all I know mister, s'all I know."

Murdoch knelt at the foot of the grave, hat in hand. The soil was fresh dug and mounded high. He had been too late to save her. His dear, sweet Catherine now lay beneath the ground, cold and lifeless. He felt numb inside, empty. If only Garrett had waited. If only Haney had not forced Murdoch to send her away from Lancer in the first place. If only he had got there in time to hold her and be there at the end. If only …

"Going to be real showy when they get finished. Heard tell the old man paid a pretty penny to plant some grass and carve up a fine granite headstone. Still, if he'd cared that much, I think he'd stay for the burying."

Garrett had not even stayed long enough to bury her. Murdoch could not believe what he was hearing.

"Jed came back from Yerba Buena while your man was giving out his orders for the burial," intervened a man standing nearby. Matthew Carter had walked up from the settlement, arriving some minutes before. He had been patiently waiting to escort his wife home. "Said a clipper was in port. Due to sail day after tomorrow. Think that's why he left so sudden-like."

A whole new idea flooded Murdoch's mind. His father-in-law could not get what he wanted now. He could not get Catherine, but he could get the next best thing. He could get her son—Murdoch's son. Fear overtook grief. "I have to go."

Carterville was at a crossroads. The road coming up from the San Joaquin heading towards Sutter's Fort joined the road coming from the San Francisco Bay. Harlan Garrett was riding towards Yerba Buena and a ship that would take him and his grandson back to Boston. Murdoch rode steadily all day and the next. When he reach the port the sun sat low on the horizon and a lone clipper flying an American flag was anchored in the harbour.

The season was all but over, but Richardson was always to be found at the trading post. He soon confirmed that a city gent, another man and two women with infants had boarded the vessel a few hours before.

"That's the _Charleston_. Late in and likely the last vessel we'll see here this year. Hear tell, she's done her stint too. Returning to her home port back east for a fresh crew and maintenance when she leaves here. This is her final pick up before San Diego. Mark me she'll be non-stop round the Horn after that. Them jack tar's can smell the beer halls of New York already." He served Murdoch with ale and nodded towards a man snoozing outside under a tree. "Now him over there came in with that city slicker. Might be worth you having a word before you row out. Captain won't be weighing anchor 'til morning. They finished slaughtering two days ago, but the winter sun ain't good drying. They're only stowing the last of the hides now, and they're waiting on timber from up river."

Murdoch nudged the sleeping man with his foot. He was one of the gunmen, who had escorted the wagon from the ranch. Opening one eye, he scowled. "Now you just interrupted a real nice dream, Lancer. There was me and two of the prettiest little ladies you …"

"I haven't time for dreams, man. What can you tell me?"

The man yawned. "Mr Garrett said if you got here in time to tell you he and the boy are aboard the _Charleston_. That little Mex maid too, though he's sending her back to shore when they sail, now that he has the other."

"Other?"

"Wet nurse. Found a woman still feeding her own brat, who was willing to sail as far as San Diego for a small fee." The man sniggered and spat on the ground. "Ain't as pretty as the señorita, but she has the right equipment, if you know what I mean?"

Murdoch went down to the beach and signalled to the clipper. A sailor rowed him out and he hauled himself up the ropes that hung over the side. The captain greeted him as he came aboard and the cabin boy showed him the way to Garrett.

"You made it." His father-in-law held out his hand, relief evident in his voice. He looked old and lacking sleep, oddly dishevelled. Murdoch hesitated. Garrett eyed him scornfully. "You thought I was trying to run off with the boy, didn't you?"

"Where's my son?"

Hands behind his back, Harlan Garrett led the way into the adjacent cabin. Maria jumped up as Murdoch entered. "Oh, Patrón. Señora Lancer … mi pobre señora." Burying her face in her hands, she burst into tears.

At the far end of the room a woman in her twenties sat nursing a baby. On the floor at her feet an older child played on a blanket. Glancing at Garrett for confirmation Murdoch moved towards his son. Swaddled in the shawl Catherine had crocheted for him, the baby was barely visible as he fed, but the woman smiled up at Murdoch encouragingly. "Eres su padre?"

"Si. May I?"

Detaching the infant from her breast, the wet nurse gently passed him into Murdoch's outstretched arms. The baby emitted a small belch and yawned. A soft, fair down covered his head and his nose was slightly squashed from his recent arrival. Staring up at Murdoch with solemn blue eyes, the child reached out and gripped his father's finger with surprising strength. "Is he well?"

"The midwife said so, and I've seen nothing to alarm me," replied Garrett. "The Swiss woman instructed your maid how to feed him with goat's milk, but I was able to employ the services of this woman as far as San Diego. I hope to find another wet nurse willing to travel, otherwise I will employ a woman, who can care for him and feed him with goat's milk again."

"And what makes you think I will let you take him?"

"What choice do you have, Murdoch? I don't want to fight with you when we've both lost so much, but what choice do you have? We must act in the best interest of the child, Catherine's son."

"My son too!"

"And my grandson! I was too late to be of any real help to my daughter. I am determined to help her son. I can offer Scotty the best of everything, Murdoch, but most of all I can offer him safety."

"Scotty?"

"Catherine named him before she died. Scott Garrett Lancer. Do you object?"

Murdoch walked with his son towards the window and gazed out at the calm waters of the bay. Scott Garrett Lancer—it had a certain ring to it. They had talked of names. He had assumed that they would follow Scottish tradition, but like his sister-in-law in Inverness, Catherine had thought differently. She wanted her son, if it was a son, to have a name of his own. A name that spoke of his roots, she said, but did not chain him to the past. They had not seen eye to eye, but she had gotten her way once again. Aye, she could be a feisty lass when she had a mind.

"No, I don't object." Folding back the shawl he smiled sadly at his son. The small hand, perfection in miniature, having lost contact with Murdoch's finger reached higher and took hold of his nose. Murdoch chuckled. "You like to grab things, wee man."

Garrett and the women left Murdoch alone after that. Maria and the nurse found other places to sleep, and Murdoch sat alone cradling his son throughout the night. When he could he talked to him about Catherine. "You would have loved your mother, Scott; and she would have loved you so very much. …I remember picking blossom from her hair. She had beautiful hair. And her smile, it would light up her face—and my life. …I will miss her—the music of her voice, even the way she teased me. …I would have liked you to know her. …I'm glad she got to hold you."

Emotion and tiredness took its toll. When Maria slipped into the cabin early the next morning, her knock unanswered, she found Murdoch curled up asleep on a bunk. His arm loosely corralled his son as the infant snuggled by his side. "Señor Lancer, it is time to wake up."

Rousing himself, Murdoch let Maria take Scott from him. Amazingly the bairn had not cried once during the night, but he was hungry now. As soon as Maria took him from the warmth of his father's arms, little Scott started crying to be fed. She changed his diaper first, and then beckoned the wet nurse inside. The woman fed the baby while Murdoch washed his face and hands from a ewer and bowl in the corner of the room. Garrett joined them for breakfast, and all too soon it was time to say goodbye.

"We will likely stay with the _Charleston_ and take the longer route around the Horn. I would not take the boy across Panama with those infernal insects eating him alive."

"You're right to avoid Panama, but you may not have to endure the Horn. There is another route via Nicaragua. I'm told there are no mosquitos, and it's only a week or two longer than the Panama route. Ask the captain. Make enquiries at San Diego. You may be able to shorten your journey by a month."

"I'll do that—and I'll take good care of him, Murdoch. You can be sure of that."

"This is only temporary, Harlan. He's my son. I'll come for him as soon as I can. I hope that's understood?"

Harlan Garrett nodded. "I understand, Murdoch. I understand."

The clipper set sail mid-morning. A fine drizzle fell as Murdoch and Maria stood on the beach and watched the _Charleston_'s slow progress out of the bay. Murdoch was reminded of the day he had said goodbye to his family in Inverness. Just as he had been on that day, he was glad of the rain.

Notes:

_Legacy_, Series 2, Episode 10 forms the basis of this chapter and readers will recognise that Esther Carter's speech has been borrowed directly from that TV episode. In the main I have kept to canon and worked around it, filling in the gaps and sometimes presenting a different perspective to that given by the characters in _Legacy_. The only actual break with canon is Devil's Canyon. In _Legacy _Murdoch says he was riding through the badlands, but my enquiries told me that there were no badlands anywhere in the vicinity. As there was no logical reason for the characters to ride far enough south for Murdoch to encounter actual badlands and as in the TV episode the terrain did not look like badlands, I decided to invent a rugged canyon instead.

For those who question my choice to have them ride for Sutter's Fort and then to have Murdoch catch up with Garrett and Scott before they left for Boston, all I can say is that I do not consider this version of events to break with canon. Fans have formed some very strongly held beliefs based on the snippets of information the TV script writers provided, but never does it say Murdoch did not see his son before Scott went to Boston, and when telling a story 25 years on or hearing it over a 100 years on, we often blur the detail and impose our own perceptions. My view is that we heard parts of the story from Harlan the way he remembered it and parts from Murdoch the way he remembered it. Both were over-tired and emotional at the time, and both had reasons to tell their listeners a story that lent sympathy to themselves and which made sense to their listeners in terms of their own understanding, e.g. by 1871 no one talked of Yerba Buena and Sutter's Fort. To avoid explanation, it was just easier to say San Francisco and Sacramento. There were also several apparent inconsistencies and a great deal of the story was never told—until now.

Sutter's Fort was the hub of the New Helvetia (New Switzerland) estate owned by John Sutter, and was founded in 1839. It was the first non-Native American Community in the California Central Valley. Sutter's Fort marked the western end to the California and Siskiyou Trails. It was the first port of call for migrants entering California overland through the Sierra Nevada. The fort was abandoned after the discovery of gold and was effectively swallowed up by the new carefully-designed town of Sacramento.

Yerba Buena was a small settlement on the shore of San Francisco Bay. It was renamed San Francisco on 30 January, 1847. Also, there was a trading post and its proprietor was a man called Richardson.

Other episodes providing detail for this chapter include the pilot movie _The Homecoming_ or _The Highriders_, Series 1, Episode 1 (abridged version of the pilot) and _Yesterday's Vendetta_, Series 1, Episode 16.


	21. From H to H Chap21 Grief and Anger

From Highlands to Homecoming by Margaret P.

_(Thanks to betas, Terri Derr and Anna Orr, and also to Marion, who helped me with the German.)_

Chapter 21: Grief and Anger (Words: 2,279)

Murdoch and Maria reached home for New Year's Eve, but neither felt much like celebrating.

After a bleak and damp Christmas at Richardson's trading post they had returned to Carterville. Leaving Maria with Esther and Matthew Carter, Murdoch and Joe Carter had ridden back to Devil's Canyon to retrieve the bushwhacker's body. All they had found was his grave. A roughly made cross with 'DEEGAN' burned into the wood had been erected at one end. The boys and the wagon were gone.

Sleeping the night at the Carters' farmhouse, Murdoch and Maria made an early start on horseback for Sutter's Fort. Murdoch suggested Maria wait for him in Carterville, but she was attracting the unwanted attention of a farm labourer there. "I would rather come with you, Señor."

They reached the fort mid-afternoon, and a message was sent to the Grüber farmhouse with news of their arrival. John Sutter offered his condolences and schnapps to toast the departed. The midwife joined them as Murdoch drained his glass. She greeted Maria warmly. "Willkommen, mein liebes Kind."

"Gracias, Frau Grüber. This is Señor Lancer."

Murdoch took off his hat and nodded politely. He tried to thank the midwife for attending Catherine, but she stopped him. "Herr Lancer, you must not thank me. I did nothing. Maria did all."

"I know how much I owe, Maria." Murdoch glanced meaningfully at the young maid. "But you rode a long way to help my wife, Frau Grüber. I'm grateful—even if it was too late." He hesitated. One question preyed on his mind. "Could you have saved her?"

"Ich weiss nicht, Herr Lancer." The midwife sounded sympathetic, but Murdoch did not understand her. He must have looked confused, because Frau Grüber thought for a moment and then added, "I do not know."

Frau Grüber showed Murdoch the details she had recorded of the birth and death and asked him to check that she had everything correct. Then she left him to make his declaration about the incident at Devil's Canyon. The man who acted for the government in such official matters foresaw no problem. He would forward the information to Monterey in due course, but on the face of it, Murdoch had acted in self-defence. No further action by the authorities was likely.

Murdoch and Maria collected the wagon as they passed through Carterville the next day. Returning the borrowed mare to its stable, they accepted some bread and cheese and a mug of coffee but stayed less than an hour. Murdoch tied his horse to the back of the wagon, and they travelled as quickly as four wheels over dirt roads would allow. Approaching a settlement soon after dusk on the first day, Murdoch suggested they stop, but Maria urged him on. "Let's keep going a little longer, Señor. I don't mind another night under the stars, if tomorrow we reach home."

The next night they were so close to Lancer that the idea of stopping while they could still see the road was not an option for either of them. Murdoch decided to risk the main road in. It was New Year's Eve and Haney's men would be celebrating in the cantinas. The moon was much brighter than it had been when he had left and on the better road he was sure they could make it home that night. Maria crawled back into the wagon and slept as Murdoch drove on.

As the wagon drew near to the hacienda, a figure ran down the road towards them. It was Cipriano. Murdoch slowed long enough for him to climb onto the back of the wagon, and then continued on. Paul waved them through the barricade and after ensuring the carts were pulled back in position and secure, he followed them to the hacienda. The clocks had just struck twelve. Murdoch could hear the distant sound of revelry from the bunkhouse and workers cottages, but he also saw the shadow of guards on the roof tops and around the fences. Paul had not taken any chances.

Cipriano helped Maria from the wagon. With a nod, Murdoch acknowledged the look of shocked sympathy he saw in the young vaquero's face. He trusted the tears in Maria's eyes would tell O'Brien all he needed to know. The three of them followed him to the front door. Cipriano pushed forward and made sure he was first after Murdoch into the house. Earlier that day he had retrieved the small lump of coal he used for the First Footing from its place on the bookcase. Maria and Paul watched from the archway as he placed it beside the candle Murdoch was lighting on the table.

"Aye, Cipriano. Thank you. That was thoughtful. Do you want a dram?"

"No, gracias, Patrón. I will see Maria home now." Taking her by the hand, he led Maria back outside.

Paul paused. He watched Murdoch as he stood motionless, gazing into nothingness. "I'll have a drink, Boss. It's been a long night."

Murdoch poured two whiskeys from the decanter on the sideboard, and settled himself in a chair. Paul sat opposite, silently sipping his drink while a clock ticked the minutes away. Eventually Murdoch put down his empty glass. "I think I'll sleep in the guest room."

Paul nodded. They rose from their seats. Placing his glass on the table, Paul headed towards the door to check on the guard. As he reached the arch to the entrance hall, he looked back. "I'm sorry, Boss. I truly am."

The days that followed were subdued. News travelled quickly. Before the end of the week, Sarah and Daniel Johnson drove out to offer their condolences.

"Would you like me to sort Catherine's things?" Sarah offered kindly.

"Aye, I suppose that would be best." Murdoch was still in a daze most of the time. Outside on the ranch he was forced to focus on the work, but inside the house he felt swamped by the enormity of his loss. At every turn there was something to remind him of Catherine. He could not break free of his grief. Estella fed him and did the household chores, but she was not confident enough to broach the subject of Catherine's belongings. She did move Murdoch's things into the guest room when he made no attempt to move back into their bedroom, but nothing was said. Sarah was more pragmatic. "I'll come again on Tuesday then. Think about what you would like to keep and if you would like anything in particular done with the rest."

"You decide, only give Maria the blue dress. Catherine would've wanted her to have the blue dress. Let her and Estella choose whatever else they'd like. You too—just…. I don't want to be involved."

In the end, Maria chose to keep her mistress's dressing table set. "I brushed and arranged her hair every evening before dinner. We would laugh and talk. She was more like a friend than a mistress."

Estella asked if she could have Catherine's sewing box. It held similar memories for her. After some encouragement from Sarah, she also accepted gowns that she could alter into dresses for her younger daughters.

"I've taken Catherine's sheet music, and a dress I particularly like. I've put letters and some personal items I think you will want to keep in a small chest. It's in the cupboard under the stairs. The rest has been shared between the other women on the estate. If there is anything you want back, just tell Estella and it will be returned."

Murdoch entered his old bedroom. Stripped of everything but the furniture it no longer smelled of Catherine's perfume, and it was just a room once more. Empty like the way his chest felt inside, but the burden of grief weighed less heavily.

He was more at ease in the great room too. Catherine's unfinished knitting no longer lay by the side of the sofa and _Pride and Prejudice_ was back amongst the other novels on the bookcase. Pictures, the Lancer brand above the fireplace and various decorative touches Catherine had made to the room and its furnishings still remained to remind him, but he was surprised at how much relief he felt that her clothing and personal belongings were gone. It gave him the strength for the other tasks he had been putting off—the letter writing and the bible.

His letters to his family and Beth Eliot were short. Harlan Garrett and Scott would arrive in Boston long before his letters, but all the same he made the effort to break the news gently to Beth and to ask for her help.

_I know you and Catherine's father still do not get on, Beth, but if you would make an effort to see Scott and watch out for him, I would be grateful. _

Sealing the last letter, Murdoch went to the bookshelf and took down the bible Alfred Burke had given him and Catherine for a wedding present. It was not large, but it was beautiful and Catherine had adored it.

"Sorry it's late, but you didn't invite me to the wedding," Burke had teased. "The cover was made at the San Francisco Bay mission from local timbers and carved by Padre Felipe. I have often admired his work. Thank you for giving me such a joyous reason to commission his services."

Catherine and Murdoch had marvelled at the intricacy of the carving. It depicted Saint Francis of Assisi amid the animals and woodland of California. The bible itself came from Spain and was written in Latin with red, green and gold lettering at the start of each gospel. Between the Old and New Testaments, there were several blank pages set aside for recording family events. Murdoch had started by recording his marriage to Catherine in Roxbury. Now in a slow and less-than-steady hand, he recorded her death and the birth of his son.

_Scott Garrett Lancer born Carterville, California December 19__th__, 1845._

_Catherine Jane Lancer died near Carterville, California December 20__th__, 1845._

The clearing of Catherine's belongings, the letter-writing and recording were like a cleansing, which enabled Murdoch to move forward at last. Yet the sadness seemed increasingly to be replaced with anger. At first guilt consumed him, and briefly he even blamed Catherine, but gradually he settled his anger on others. He cursed his father-in-law, but he was also grateful to him. Even when resentment dominated, there was no outlet for his frustration; Harlan Garrett was not there to attack. Finally Murdoch's anger focussed in on the one person, who was there; the man who had caused him to write to Garrett, who had forced him to send Catherine away and whose activities had prevented him bringing his son home.

One morning about a month after Murdoch's return, Pedro rode in with Diego after checking the outlying herds. "The line shack above Calf Creek has been burnt to the ground, Patrón."

Something inside Murdoch snapped. An all-encompassing rage consumed him. Cursing loudly, he marched to the stable and saddled his horse. Startled and worried by the boss's temper, Pedro ran to find O'Brien. Murdoch rode out of the yard at speed as the two men rounded the corner of the hacienda. Paul shouted, but Murdoch was in no mood for talk. He went looking for the man he now blamed for everything. He went looking to make that man pay. He went looking for Jud Haney.

Murdoch found him in a cantina in Morro Coyo. "Haney, you bastard, I'm going to kill you." His fist smashed into Haney's jaw and sent him sprawling. Haney's two companions just gaped as Murdoch hauled their boss up from the sawdust and sent him crashing into the street. Catching their wits at last, they jumped Murdoch from behind as he followed Haney outside, but in his fury Murdoch flung them off with ease. Haney scrambled to his feet and fought back. He ducked as Murdoch swung again and connected with a right hook of his own. It had little impact. Realising he was no match for the raging bull in front of him, Haney went for his gun.

"I don't think so, Haney." Paul O'Brien, still astride his horse, held a rifle pointed at Haney's head. Three Lancer hands grabbed Haney's men. Three more took a firm hold of Murdoch and tried to force him to come away.

"Let me go, damn you!"

Paul handed his rifle to one of the ranch hands and dismounted. He confronted Murdoch, trying to calm him down. "This is not the answer, Boss. Killing him won't bring her back."

At that moment, one of Haney's men broke free. Flinging himself onto his mare, he grabbed the reins of Haney's horse and rode directly at the man with the rifle. The Lancer man dived out of the way. The horses swerved, and Haney clinging to the pommel and with only one foot in a stirrup rode to freedom. Once out of bullet range he seated himself properly and reined the horse in. He jeered back at Murdoch. "You'll pay for that, Lancer. When your bodyguards ain't around. Watch your back."

"You'd best be sure of your aim, Haney. If I see you again, I won't waste time hitting you. I'll shoot you on sight."

The two men glared at each other. Then Haney broke eye contact and galloped away. Murdoch shook off his men. "You should've let me murder the son of a bitch!"

Paul picked Murdoch's hat up from the ground and dusted it off. He handed it back. "I would've, Boss, but he might've killed you instead. Crazy, but we've kinda got used to having you around."

Notes:

See _Legacy_, Series 2, Episode 10 and _Yesterday's Vendetta_, Series 1, Episode 16

Sutter's Fort was the hub of the New Helvetia (New Switzerland) estate owned by John Sutter, and was founded in 1839. It was the first non-Native American Community in the California Central Valley. Sutter's Fort marked the western end to the California and Siskiyou Trails. It was the first port of call for migrants entering California overland through the Sierra Nevada. The fort was abandoned after the discovery of gold and was effectively swallowed up by the new carefully-designed town of Sacramento.

Yerba Buena was a small settlement on the shore of San Francisco Bay. It was renamed San Francisco on 30 January, 1847. Also, there was a trading post and its proprietor was a man called Richardson.


	22. From H to H Chap 22 Revival

From Highlands to Homecoming by Margaret P.

_(My thanks to betas, Terri Derr and Anna Orr, for their patience and invaluable advice. Also to Marion Wille and Rhiannon, two other members of Lancer Writer's, who were brave enough to offer constructive criticism and were right—hence this revised version.)_

Chapter 22: Revival (Words: 3,418)

Despite his bravado, Jud Haney did not cross Murdoch's path again. Some weeks after their confrontation, he moved his activities further south. This probably had more to do with the presence of soldiers in the area than anything else, but for the first time in months, life at the ranch returned to normal.

There were not a lot of soldiers, but they were there, camping on the Estancia Caldera's land and making forays into the surrounding countryside. Tension between the United States and Mexico was increasing, resulting in unrest amongst the settler and native-born population alike. Although he knew the problems experienced in the San Joaquin Valley were unrelated, Don Caldera used the political situation to their advantage and finally persuaded the governor that it was in the government's interest to bring some law and order to the area. The Mexican authorities clearly feared former American citizens would rise up against them. It was not a huge leap to jump to the conclusion that Haney was a revolutionary and the bandits, if not in league with him, were fostering discontent amongst the settlers, which could turn to revolt.

Meanwhile American settlers throughout California feared the Mexican government was about to take military action against them. In June after listening to rumours some settlers mounted a coup against the small garrison at Sonoma. About thirty settlers took part in the bloodless revolt, and even won the support of influential landowners like John Sutter. Murdoch suspected it was doomed to failure as soon as he heard of it. They would have needed back up from the United States government to hold the fort, and any chance of that was too far away at the time.

"What news of Sonoma?" he asked Alfred Burke as the land agent passed through the valley. "Would I be right in thinking the republic has not lasted?"

"The Mexicans have regained the fort, but who knows what will happen next. Unrest is rife throughout California. Rumour has it there's been a Californio revolt in Los Angeles, but I don't know the details."

A small American contingent stationed in Los Angeles was forced to evacuate, but then Commodore Sloat of the United States navy sailed into Monterey harbour and took over the town. Minor skirmishes and territorial exchanges continued throughout the year. Murdoch and most of his neighbours chose to stay neutral. They concentrated on picking up the pieces of their lives and their ranches now that they were enjoying a welcome respite from the ravages of bandits and Jud Haney's so-called lawmen.

"I would welcome American government," Murdoch confessed to Caldera, "In the time I've been here, the Mexican government has been poorly organised and ineffective. California may as well be the moon for all they seem to care about us. Yet they are happy enough to tax our trade." Don Caldera said nothing, but his eyebrows asked a question. "Don't worry I will not take up arms against the Mexican government. Frankly, I've too much else to do. Besides, thanks to you, they are finally giving us some support, even if it is for the wrong reasons."

Don Caldera nodded as he sipped his wine. Their private dinners once a month began after Catherine's death. Both men valued these evenings together, and they felt relaxed in each other's company. Murdoch knew the don shared his views, but the time had not quite arrived for his friend to say so publicly.

In August Murdoch received a letter from Beth Eliot. Some of the ink was smudged and he knew she had been crying as she wrote. He was surprised to learn why she had not written sooner; she had been giving birth to her own baby boy.

_Robert McIntyre Eliot (Bobby) was born on February 10th, 1846. _

Her husband and father had initially kept the news of Catherine's death from Beth. Garrett had returned to Boston with Scott at the time of her lying in, and they were afraid for her health. After the birth, when she had been eager to send Catherine word that she had a son and write of her hopes that their two children would be friends, Robert Eliot had broken the news as gently as he could. Still emotional from the birth, Beth had been distraught. She had only steeled herself to what she saw to be her duty when she received Murdoch's letter.

_I visited Scott today. I gave my condolences to Mr Garrett, and begged to be allowed to see Catherine's son. Mr Garrett and I will never be friends, but we have made our peace. I now feel it must have been God's plan for me to marry Robert, so that I could be sure of remaining in contact with Scott. Mr Garrett will not prevent his grandson associating with an Eliot, even if she was once someone less grand and complicit in the elopement of his daughter._

_You did not tell me Scott has Catherine's eyes. He is such a happy babe. He gurgles and smiles and grabs hold of everything in reach. He is well cared for. His nanny knows her business and I have encouraged her to spend time with our nanny and little Bobby. Our sons shall be friends, Murdoch, and I am confident for the moment that I will be able to watch over Scott and send you reports. _

_A word of warning, however, I have not mentioned to Mr Garrett that we correspond. I believe I must still tread carefully with him, and I suggest you do the same. _

Murdoch read Beth's description of Scott three times before he folded her letter and returned it to its envelope. He had always liked Beth. She had been the best of friends to Catherine, and now she was a godsend to him. The frustration and guilt from being apart from his son never seemed to go away entirely, but his heart felt lighter than it had done in weeks just knowing Scott was safe and well. He put the letter carefully away with the ones from Catherine in the strongbox behind his desk. He never kept money in the strongbox, just items of value.

As autumn approached winter, the demands of the ranch lessened. With no bandits or Haney to harass the herds or wreak havoc across his land, Murdoch had time to feel restless and lonely. Outside he was irritable with the men. Inside he spent empty evenings with a bottle of whiskey and paperwork for company. It was after one of the hands threatened to leave complaining that the boss had turned into a miserable bastard that O'Brien came up with an idea. Murdoch should use the quiet time during winter to see more of America.

"Saw Jay McKillen last night in town. Heading to the Colorados for the trapping. Says he would be happy to have you along, if you have a mind."

With only a little persuasion, Murdoch agreed he could be spared. He and Paul had often exchanged stories of their travels. Murdoch may have sailed down one side of North America and up the other, but Paul had seen much more of what lay in between. Murdoch's desire to see the vast open spaces on the other side of the Sierra Nevada was strong. When McKillen rode through Lancer two days later, therefore, Murdoch's saddle bags were packed and ready.

"Hope you got something warmer than that coat, Lancer." Wearing a bulky jacket made from furs, McKillen shifted his weight in his saddle and continued to chew his tobacco as he spoke. "You'll need gloves as well."

"Thought I could get what I need at Sutter's Fort."

The small Swiss community of Sutter's Fort marked the western end of the California Trail, and was a regular stop for trappers travelling to the coast laden with pelts, or returning to the mountains after summering in warmer climes. Murdoch had no trouble acquiring the equipment and clothing required.

Murdoch and McKillen made good progress across the Sierra Nevada. Moving more slowly was a wagon train, struggling through the corridor in the opposite direction.

"Should make it before the snows come, but they've left it late." McKillen observed as they steered their horses and mule aside to let an ox drawn cart pass by. He hailed the guide and they exchanged information about the trails ahead of them.

Murdoch revelled in the beauty of the scenery and the physical exertion. They moved at a steady pace. He was so tired from each day's ride that by the time they spread out their bedrolls he fell asleep almost instantly. The worries and grief that plagued his dreams at Lancer were deprived their regular playground. By the time he breathed in the crisp winter air of Utah, Murdoch was once again beginning to feel like the young man who had left Scotland.

Jay McKillen was a big man—nearly as tall as Murdoch. He was a man of little education and few words. They travelled in silence much of the time, crossing Nevada and Utah into Colorado. When they entered the southern end of the Rockies, the majesty of the mountains and the pristine lakes left Murdoch in awe, but McKillen came alive. Even though he was Texan by birth, he belonged to the mountains. Murdoch could sense the energy increase in the trapper as they ascended into the wilderness. McKillen could find a trail when Murdoch saw nothing but trees and rocks. He read spoor and animal tracks like an Indian and sensed danger long before it approached. His enthusiasm for his environment stirred him to talk, and Murdoch learned more about the wildlife of North America and tracking in those few weeks than he had done from all the books he had read and all his time in California put together.

They hunted mink, beaver, fox, raccoon, muskrat and pine marten—any animal with fur. McKillen taught Murdoch how to set traps and how to mark his way so he knew how to find them again. He showed him how to skin the animals and how to construct a bivouac from fir trees to protect them from the snow that soon began to fall. He instructed him on how to read the signs that not only showed animals were near, but told an experienced trapper what kind of animals, how many and when they had passed by.

"Bin trappin' these mountains since I was a nipper," McKillen explained over a steaming mug of coffee as they sat round the fire one night. "For Ma's sake, Pa run a few head on land in north Texas, but every winter he'd come up to the mountains. Brung me with him soon as I could hold a gun. When she died, we came here permanent like."

"Where's your pa now?"

"Buried 'im in '43 on the other side of that mountain." McKillen pointed with his knife across the valley. "Bobcat." He cut another slice of meat from the raccoon roasting over the fire and chewed it thoughtfully.

By mid-January the mule was heavily laden with pelts and they were talking of heading west again. Murdoch needed to start the return journey to Lancer soon. They decided McKillen would see him on his way with most of the pelts they had accumulated so far and then go back into the mountains for some more trapping.

"May as well make the most of the season since I've you to play pack horse for me. I'll—"

"What is it?"

McKillen held up one hand, signalling silence as he reached for his rifle with the other. Rising slowly, the trapper's eyes searched the forest. Murdoch followed his lead. They stood back to back, rifles at the ready, straining to hear or see what was out there. The horses jostled restlessly. A dark cloud shrouded the moon, but all Murdoch could hear was the muffled thud of snow falling from the tree branches. The night was still and unnaturally silent. Their breath hung in the air and they waited.

Darkness exploded. Demons screeched. Knives flashed in the firelight. Both rifles fired. The weight of a man smacked into him. Murdoch crashed down through the trees, branches tearing at his skin, hands slipping on sweat, struggling to keep a blade from his throat. Over and over they rolled, his face bombarded by spittle and stale breath. Crack! Bone hit rock. Murdoch jerked the man up and smashed him down hard with a deadly scrunch. The Shoshone brave lay still beneath him and a gritty stickiness oozed over his left hand.

Another fiend, dark face streaked with white, hurtled out of nowhere. Murdoch dodged as he rose. A sharp pain slashed him, but he turned to face his attacker. Circling now, eyes locked, both panting. Knives clenched. A stitch in his side made it hard to breathe. He dodged as the dagger thrust forward. Using his shoulder Murdoch slammed his enemy into a tree trunk. A sickening squelch and a broken branch skewered its victim. Wide-eyed the Indian's head flopped to one side and rested amongst pine cones.

Spitting blood, Panama knife in one hand and gripping his side with the other, Murdoch grunted as he staggered back up the slope towards the remains of the fire. The stench of gore mixed with the smoke. Hot embers sizzled in the snow. Jay was pinned down by three Shoshone warriors. Murdoch lurched forward into the maelstrom as Jay rammed his knife up, under and out and turned to the next assailant. Fast losing strength, Murdoch threw his weight into the other Indian. They hit the ground together, the world spun and everything went black.

Somewhere a rifle fired. A horse passed him at speed, and Murdoch fell into the void once again.

When he next awoke, someone was dragging him. He heard himself groan as he was propped half sitting-half lying against the smooth leather of a saddle. His world was still black, and the pain in his side cut him in half. "I can't see."

"Try opening your eyes." Jay McKillen knelt beside him cutting Murdoch's blood soaked shirt away from his skin. "Tarnation, they've done you good and proper." Removing the cork with his teeth, Jay sloshed whiskey over the wound and Murdoch jerked in agony. "Hold still and I'll bind you. God damn Shoshone. What the hell they doing so far south?"

Murdoch and Jay endured an uncomfortable and sleepless night, but the Shoshone war party did not come back. A new day dawned, crisp and clear.

"Got away with a rifle, but won't do them much good without bullets. That don't help us none mind," Jay growled, surveying the damage. The pelts were strewn across the ground, but none had been stolen. The pile must have been knocked over in the fight. He found the mule a few yards away, grazing a small island of mountain grass amid the snow. No sign of the horses.

Jay bundled half the pelts and tied them high into a tree along with one of the saddles. He saddled the mule and bound the remaining pelts up front. "Need to get you to a doctor. Think you can stand?"

Murdoch rose with difficulty. His head spun and he gasped with the pain. Jay helped him up onto the mule. Fighting the dizziness, Murdoch gripped the pommel as Jay re-arranged the pelts around him. Two braves lay dead near the fire, arms and legs splayed at odd angles. Angry squeals drew his attention. Rats were fighting on a blood-stained mound part way down the slope. His stomach lurched. It was the remains of his assailant's skull, and the rats were fighting over its contents. Averting his eyes from the grisly scene, he spied a fourth body, still pinned to a fir tree with a look of astonishment on its face. A dried trickle of blood trailed from the gaping mouth.

Jay shouldered his rifle and a backpack of bedrolls, cookware and pelts. Taking the mule's reins, he began the slow trudge towards help. There was no identifiable trail, and Murdoch swayed dangerously as they navigated the uneven terrain. The sun was high in the sky when he rolled from the mule. The fall brought him round.

"Damn mules. Never did like them," he groaned, pushing himself up to sitting. He drank from the canteen Jay put to his lips, and allowed his friend to check his bandage.

"Wound's opened up again," Jay grumbled, wadding Murdoch's side with cloth ripped from his shirt and retying the blood soaked bandage. "I'm going to pack more up front and tie you to the pile. Mite uncomfortable I expect, but you can't keep falling off. Long way to go."

By the third day Murdoch was struggling to stay conscious. Not even the severe cramp from being forced to half-lie and half-sit could keep him from falling into a murky haze. When they camped for the night he was sweating, but his breath still hung white in the air. Jay's voice seemed to fade in and out. The Texan drawl dwindled to an echo from the end of a very long tunnel and then slammed into Murdoch like a train at full throttle. Dreams overtook his mind.

Murdoch saw his sister Maggie playing knuckle bones by the hearth as his Ma bent to tend the porridge on the fire.

"Let's be having it, my bonnie lass." His Da fresh from his morning chores came through the door, Jock dawdling in his wake as he played with Jess, their border collie.

Murdoch stepped towards them, but he stumbled. When he looked up from the flagstones he saw numbers, enamel and gold encased in mahogany and glass. Clocks of all sizes ticked around him. Sun streamed through a lattice window. He was in his grandfather's workshop. The old man hunched low over his bench examining a pocket watch with his eyeglass. "Stop your girning, lad. I agree with your brother. You're staying in school."

Murdoch protested his fate, but his grandfather did not seem to hear him. The watchmaker and the shop merged with the shadows.

For a long time Murdoch did not know where he was. Light and dark battled for control. He felt jarring as though he was on the move. This is what it must have been like for Catherine, he thought. My poor, bonnie lass, where are you?

The soft light of dawn pushed back the edge of darkness. She lay beside him, sleeping peacefully. He could feel the warmth of her breath against his skin and his body relaxed.

"I've missed you, lass. Come back to me." Murdoch reached out to touch her hair. It was soft and silky and smelled of rosewater.

He blinked.

Grey-blue eyes gazed curiously back at him. A small hand stretched out and Murdoch felt tiny fingers brush his cheek. Tears obscured his son from view as his mind swirled once more.

"Come back! Come back." But the people he loved most were gone. All that remained was the darkness and the pain, and the determination to live.

It took six days for Jay McKillen to pack Murdoch over the Colorados to Taos in New Mexico. Six days to traverse seventy miles of steep, snow-covered mountain-range with only instinct to guide him. He near collapsed when he reached the small ranch house in the high country just north of town.

The fever that consumed Murdoch on the third night was raging when the rancher and his son unstrapped him from the mule and carried him inside. The man's wife nursed him while their son fetched the doctor and for two days there was some doubt whether Murdoch would live or die; or so they told him after the fever broke and he began to recover.

"You're a lucky man," declared the doctor putting away his stethoscope. "You'll likely make a full recovery."

"I'll be leaving you then, Lancer." Jay paid the doctor and the rancher for their trouble, and stuffed money under Murdoch's pillow. With the hides they had brought with them, Jay had purchased a horse and supplies. Most of what was left over now lay beneath Murdoch's head. "I'm going back to the mountains. Get the other saddle and the rest of them hides. Maybe do some more trapping. See you back in California in a month or so."

"I owe you, Jay," Murdoch said, leaning forward from his sickbed to shake hands. "I'll not forget."

Notes:

See _The Great Humbug, _Series 1, Episode 20.

Sutter's Fort was the hub of the New Helvetia (New Switzerland) estate owned by John Sutter, and was founded in 1839. It was the first non-Native American Community in the California Central Valley. Sutter's Fort marked the western end to the California and Siskiyou Trails. It was the first port of call for migrants entering California overland through the Sierra Nevada. The fort was abandoned after the discovery of gold and was effectively swallowed up by the new carefully-designed town of Sacramento.

The wagon train Murdoch and Jay encountered travelling through the Sierra Nevada is fictitious or not depending on your preference. If you choose, you could believe it to be the infamous Donner Party, who spent the winter of 1846-47 snowbound in the Sierra Nevada and resorted to cannibalism to survive.


	23. From H to H Chap 23 Reunion

From Highlands to Homecoming by Margaret P.

_(My thanks to betas, Terri Derr and Anna Orr, for their patience and invaluable advice.)_

Chapter 23: Reunion (Words: 3,573)

Murdoch was dumbfounded. Still bandaged around his middle, he sat in Don Juan Contanado's gran sala, recuperating after a tiring journey from Taos to Sonora, just south of Alta California. "When did it happen? I've heard nothing."

"Sometime in January at a place called Campo de Cahuenga near Los Angeles. Governor Pico and the American Fremont signed the agreement. It is not absolute, but you know how these things work, my friend. Alta California is now part of the United States." Don Contanado sipped at his wine, amused by Murdoch's astonishment. "You knew it was coming. We talked of the possibility when we first met at my cousin's wedding."

"Aye, I suppose it isn't totally unexpected. It's just I've been out of contact with the world for some weeks. I must hurry home."

"You must indeed, but not before you have seen my herds. Not before you have admired the finest bulls in Mexico."

The Estancia Contanado truly did boast some of the best cattle Murdoch had seen since arriving in California. Improving the herds and turning the estate into one of the best in Mexico had been a Contanado family passion over several generations. Murdoch's neighbour, Don Caldera, had not been exaggerating. His daughter's wedding nearly two years before had provided an opportunity to introduce Murdoch to his young cousin, and there had been an instant affinity between the two cattlemen. They were of similar age and shared many interests besides cattle. Don Contanado had invited Murdoch to visit him in Sonora. With Catherine's death and the unrest in the San Joaquin such a visit had not been immediately possible. After his adventures with Jay McKillen, however, as he prepared to return to California from Taos, Murdoch realised the Estancia Contanado was not too far out of his way.

"My bloodstock definitely needs improving. I can't afford the time or the money this year, but will you sell me a hundred head when I can?"

Don Contanado was happy to oblige at any time, and Murdoch crossed the border from Sonora into Alta California the following day with great plans in mind. By early April he was back at Lancer and eager to start work.

"Thought you'd got lost." Paul held the horse steady as Murdoch dismounted.

"Nearly didn't come back at all." Murdoch grinned broadly at his segundo as he exercised the stiffness out of his legs. "It's good to be home, and that's a fact."

Murdoch felt like a new man and he threw himself into re-building the ranch's fortunes after the disastrous two years before. In a surge of enthusiasm he decided to erect an arch with 'Lancer' upon it over the main road as it approached the hacienda. The Estancia Contanado had a similar arch, and he was in the mood to do something to mark a fresh start.

"Bit ostentatious for a frugal Scot, isn't it?" Alfred Burke teased as he passed through. "I like it."

The Mexican soldiers had pulled out of the San Joaquin with the signing of the treaty transferring Alta California into American control. The bandits stayed away throughout the summer, and the ranch had a good season. Some bands began to return in the fall. Rumours suggested Haney was among them, but this time abandoning all pretence of being a lawman. The rustling showed no signs of turning into land piracy however—no one had been killed and no buildings or fields burnt—so Murdoch and his neighbours took precautions, but were not unduly worried. Murdoch continued to concentrate on improving his herds, planting feed crops, surveying land and driving cattle to market.

In September Cipriano Ramirez Cruz married Maria Hernandez Moreno at the mission chapel just outside Morro Coyo. The fandango was held at the Hacienda Lancer and almost the entire population of Morro Coyo and a large number of people from Green River and elsewhere attended. Both families had lived in the San Joaquin a long time and the young people were well thought of throughout the neighbourhood.

"To many happy years together." Murdoch toasted the bride and groom privately as they stood together in the shade of the portico. "Señora Lancer would have loved to have seen this day."

"I too wish the Señora could have been here, Patrón." Maria touched his arm and smiled sadly.

"No tears, Maria. I didn't mean to make you unhappy on such a special day. The Señora will always be here in our hearts. I simply meant that she recognised you were made for each other long before the rest of us." Murdoch hugged Maria and gently pushed her towards her new husband. "Dance with your wife, Cipriano. You're a lucky man."

The festivities went on long into the night, although the bride and groom did not stay until the end. Murdoch retired to his room to recall his own wedding night and to write to his father-in-law.

_The situation here is improving. Although it is still too soon to talk of bringing Scott home to Lancer, I want to see my son. I plan to visit, and hope to reach Boston in time for Scott's birthday. Leave word with my bank whether you are able to put me up._

"Thank you for taking this letter for me, Señor. The _Providence_ should be in harbour when you return to Yerba Buena—I mean San Francisco." Murdoch laughed at his poor memory as he handed his letter to a wedding guest returning home. The town of Yerba Buena had doubled in size the previous year with the arrival of 240 Mormon settlers and in January the new American alcalde, Lieutenant Bartlett, had seen fit to change the name.

In October tragedy struck once again. Juan Hernandez had been born and raised on Lancer land. Less than a month after he proudly walked his eldest daughter down the aisle, a snake spooked his horse and the cattle he was driving to new pasture. His foot was caught in the stirrup and he was dragged through the stampeding steers. Estella nursed him for two days, but he died of his injuries. The great joy of the preceding month turned to grief. Murdoch delayed his departure for Boston by a week, and missed the brig that was to take him south.

All was not lost however. Richardson at the Trading Post told Murdoch the whaler in port was making direct passage to Peru. "It may even be faster than the brig you missed."

"Don't take passengers," growled the captain when Murdoch first approached him. "You've a strong back though. If you've a mind to put it to work, I'll give you a berth to Panama."

Even with the saving from working his passage along the Pacific coast, the cost of another trip would perhaps have been more judiciously spent on the ranch, but he needed to see his son. Harlan's brief reports told him facts, but they lacked emotion. He knew the boy was walking, how tall he was and how much he weighed, but he thirsted for less tangible information.

This he got to some extent from Beth, but he wanted to experience it for himself. True to her word, Beth had visited Scott regularly and through the servants had learned even more. She wrote of the boy teething, of a temporary fascination with clocks and of the day that he crawled away from his nanny in the garden and she found him playing in a freshly dug flowerbed covered in dirt and chewing on nasturtiums. On his first birthday, Harlan had planned a formal adult dinner with his sister, Winifred, and a number of business associates and their wives. Beth and Robert Eliot had been invited, but Beth had also visited in the afternoon before Mr Garrett came home. Nanny Richards had organised an unofficial birthday party in the nursery. Scott, Bobby and two other infants of similar age were sat by their nannies on the floor to eat birthday cake—Beth was the only mother present by special invitation.

_Instead of eating their cake, they had the most glorious food fight. I thought I would die laughing. The children had frosting from head to foot, all over their clothes, faces, hands, in their ears and hair, even up their noses. The adults did not escape either._

Murdoch reread Beth's letters often during his journey. The stories about his son always made him smile, even when he had trouble getting passage from Chagres and there was little else to smile about. Thankfully a ship did come in time, and he arrived in Boston the day before Scott's birthday. Going straight to his bank, Murdoch found a message from his father-in-law waiting for him.

"Good news?" Douglas Muir clapped him on the shoulder. "My underlings told me you were out here. I've time now if you want a chat."

Murdoch shook hands cheerfully with his bank manager, now also a friend. "Thank you, Douglas, but I'll come back in a few days. I'm eager to see Scott, and this is the message I was hoping for. My father-in-law has invited me to stay at Louisburg Square. He's not going to cause any difficulty."

Relieved of an anxiety that had dogged him throughout the trip, Murdoch hastened to the Garrett mansion. As Jordan, the butler, showed him to his room, Murdoch grimly recalled his previous visits to the house. It was interesting to see beyond the front door and foyer. Everything was on a grand scale with ornate plaster ceilings, highly polished woodwork, and plush carpets. Portraits and exquisite landscape paintings or tapestries hung on every wall. There was a portrait of Catherine and her mother on the first landing. He paused to look at it on his way up the stairs—she was beautiful even then.

"Mr Lancer?" The butler looked back down the stairs. Murdoch shook himself out of reverie. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he took the stairs two at a time to join Jordan outside the guest bedroom.

"Mr Garrett is not due home until after 5 o'clock, sir. Master Scott is in the nursery on the third floor, if you would like to see him before then." Jordan bowed and returned downstairs.

Murdoch tossed his bag on the bed, and headed upstairs, not wanting to wait a minute longer. The sound of a young woman singing 'Sing a song of sixpence' led him to the nursery.

"May I come in?" Murdoch stuck his head around the door as the maid was 'hanging out the clothes'. He looked hopefully at the nanny, who, as it happened, was folding laundry and putting it away in drawers. A child with ash-blond curls played happily with wooden blocks on the floor.

"Oh yes, sir. Please. Mr Garrett said to expect you. I'm Hannah, sir—Nanny Richards." She curtsied and stood nervously as Murdoch entered.

"Perhaps you could organise some afternoon tea, Hannah, while I become reacquainted with Scott." He settled down opposite his son and passed a green block into a chubby outstretched hand.

"Hello, Scott. I'm your Papa."

The little boy looked up from the tower he was building. He did have Catherine's eyes—Beth was right. But in other ways Scott resembled him—or at least his side of the family. "You remind me of your Great Granda MacKinnon, laddie."

Pride and pleasure warmed Murdoch from the inside. The bairn showed no fear. Murdoch remembered their first meeting when Scott had appraised him with the same solemn stare. Getting up from the floor, the toddler came to stand in front of him. He took Murdoch's face between his hands and cocked his head to one side. "Papa?"

"Yes. I'm your Papa." Murdoch hugged Scott, taking care not to frighten him. He smelled of two-year-old. "You won't remember me, but I remember you."

They held hands beaming at each other. "My goodness; how you've grown."

Scott let go of his father and started searching through the blocks on the floor.

"Which one do you want? This red one?" Murdoch handed Scott a triangular block. With great concentration the child balanced it on top of his tower.

They constructed another tower together, and then with booms and bangs pretended to be cannon balls and knocked them both down, sending blocks flying in all directions. By the time Hannah returned with a tray of tea and biscuits Murdoch was on his back holding the toddler high and chatting nonsense as Scott squealed with delight.

Scott's birthday party the next day was a lavish event not entirely to Murdoch's taste, but he acknowledged that Harlan had gone to a lot of trouble. There were balloons, puppets and masses of food to entertain about a dozen children, their nannies and parents. Harlan was called away to attend to business as guests were arriving, so Murdoch and Scott's Great Aunt Winifred were left to welcome them. This haughty dowager was staying for the holidays. It was clear by the ungracious way she introduced Murdoch to guests, she had a very low opinion of his worth. Fortunately the puppet show began. His son demanded his company and Murdoch was able to escape hers.

Murdoch met little Bobby Eliot soon after Punch and Judy gave their final bows. Murdoch had picked Scott up and put him on his shoulders, ignoring Great Aunt Winifred's scowl from the other side of the room. Gripping his father's hair with one hand, the toddler had reached for the chandelier with the other. It was well out of reach, but Murdoch was so busy concentrating on what his son was doing, he nearly stood on a sturdy dark-haired boy, who had planted himself at Murdoch's feet. Looking down, Murdoch met Bobby's upward gaze. The boy's head was so far back Murdoch felt the bairn was in danger of falling over.

"Up!" Robert McIntyre Eliot was his mother's son and not at all afraid of strangers, even giant ones.

"Allow me." Robert Eliot swung his son up onto his own shoulders, and greeted Murdoch warmly. The two little boys wrestled from their perches while their fathers got to know each other.

"Where's Beth? I'm looking forward to seeing her." Murdoch scanned the room.

Robert chuckled and raised his eyes to his son. "Where's Mama, Bobby?"

"With my sister," replied Bobby proudly, as rehearsed. "I'm a big brother!"

"Me too!" piped Scott. "I want to be big brother too!"

The two fathers lowered their squirming sons to the ground and let them toddle off to examine the presents piled high on a nearby table. Their nannies appeared as if by magic to supervise.

"Congratulations! How is she? Is she ready for visitors?" Murdoch had known Beth was expecting another child, but perhaps because it took so long for letters to reach him, he had not realised the baby was due at this time. Chiding himself for being so inattentive, he arranged to call on Beth the following day.

The baby had been born the week before and all had gone well. Beth was already up and about, just not up to a two-year-old's birthday party. When Murdoch and Scott were shown into the sitting room, she was knitting by the fire, her new born daughter asleep in a bassinet beside her.

"Hello, Murdoch. How lovely to see you at last," Beth greeted, putting her knitting aside. "Janet, would you be so kind as to take Scott to the nursery to play with Bobby."

Releasing his son to the care of the maid, Murdoch settled down for a long chat with a dear friend. Beth shed a few tears as they talked of Catherine. It was the anniversary of her death, and their reunion was all the more poignant because of it. Time had soothed the pain however, and they both now looked to the future.

"I haven't introduced you to my daughter." Beth smiled as the little girl woke and made her presence known. Beth picked the baby up out of her cradle. "Katie this is your Uncle Murdoch…We were wondering, Murdoch, if you would like to be her godfather?"

The christening was to take place early in the New Year and Murdoch accepted the honour with pleasure. Lifting little Katie out of her mother's arms, he cuddled her happily until it was time to go. Returning to Louisburg Square, he sat with Scott as he had his tea and then retired to his room to freshen up before pre-dinner drinks with Harlan.

Bathed and powdered Scott was presented to his father and grandfather before being whisked away to bed. Garrett was not a demonstrative man, but he feigned genuine interest in the toy horse his grandson showed him and read the boy some nursery rhymes from a large picture book that seemed to live on the library table. Murdoch pushed aside niggling jealousy. He was glad Scott loved his grandfather. He was. It was just…well, for the time being there was no other choice. Harlan closed the book. Scott hugged them both goodnight and Nanny Richards carried him away.

"He is happy and well cared for, Harlan. Thank you."

"He is my grandson, Murdoch. The greatest treasure of my life now that Catherine is gone." He trimmed a corona and offered it to Murdoch. They sat in companionable silence, each with his own thoughts, until Jordan announced dinner was ready.

Harlan had a business to run even during the holiday season and he did not interrupt his routine to spend time with his sister, son-in-law or grandson except for Christmas and New Year's Day. Murdoch was left largely to his own devices. He had business too, but that did not take long. He looked up Jim Harper, who now had a house of his own, and Alfred Burke, who had recently married. He dined with the Eliots twice and visited with them several times during the day.

He soon discovered it was not the norm for fathers in Boston's high society to spend much time with their infant children. There were some exceptions—Robert Eliot was one. At any rate, this was Boston, a society ruled by etiquette and clocks. Even Hannah, the nanny, had her routines, and she clearly did not want them upset. Consequently his time alone with Scott was largely restricted to the afternoons after nap time and he made the most of them.

The first fine day after Christmas Murdoch took his son to Frog Pond to try out his birthday present. With instruction from the ship's carpenter Murdoch had begun the wooden boat the day he sailed from San Francisco. By the time he arrived in Boston, it had been shaped and polished to perfection. To an adult eye it was perhaps not as impressive as the galleon he had bought from a retired mariner for the great room at Lancer, but as a toy for a two year old, it was perfect. The centre was hollowed out so it could carry other toys, including the rubber ball Murdoch had given Scott for Christmas. Its single mast boasted a sail cut from a real main sail, and the name 'Lancer' was carved into its bow. Scott's excitement as he pushed the little boat out into the pond was well worth the effort of wading in the cold water to push it back to him again—and again—and again. Father and son had a wonderful, soggy time.

On the fourth Sunday of 1848 after the regular service Murdoch played his part at the christening of little Catherine Elizabeth Eliot, thinking the child had a good start in life being named after two such strong and beautiful women. He said goodbye to her parents and brother on the same day. "My ship sails tomorrow evening. I'll tuck Scott in and then make my way to the pier."

"We'll keep an eye on him." Beth reassured Murdoch as she hugged him farewell. "It's easier now. The older the boys get, the more parties and outings they have together."

Murdoch read his son _The Three Little Pigs_ as a bedtime story on his last night. He huffed and puffed and blew the house down, and assured Scott that as he lived in a brick house he was in no danger at all from wandering wolves. Then he tucked him in and waited for him to fall asleep.

Rocking in Nanny Richards' chair, Murdoch gazed at the small fair-head resting on crisp starched linen and watched the gentle rise and fall of the boy's chest. He tried to etch Scott's image in his mind. How Catherine would have adored their son. In his imagination Murdoch pictured Catherine and Scott greeting him in the great room when he came in from work, how he would lose himself in their embrace, the softness of their hair, the joy of their laughter. If only things had been different.

Scott snuffled in his sleep. Rising Murdoch kissed his son's forehead and tiptoed from the nursery. For several minutes he stood in the passage, eyes shut and his back against the nursery door. Once he had brought his emotions under control, he descended the stairs, grabbing his bag as he passed the guest room on the second landing. Harlan Garrett shook hands with him in the reception hall and once again escorted Murdoch to the door. "Look after him, Harlan. The next time I come, I intend to take Scott home."

Notes:

On July 7, 1846 US Navy Commodore John D. Sloat claimed California for the United States during the Mexican-American War. Two days later US Navy Captain John Berrien Montgomery and US Marine Second Lieutenant Henry Bulls Watson of the _USS Portsmouth_ arrived to claim Yerba Buena by raising the American flag over the town plaza, which is now Portsmouth Square in honour of the ship. On July 31, 1846, Yerba Buena doubled in population when 240 Mormon migrants from the East coast arrived. In August, 1846 Lieutenant Washington Allon Bartlett was named alcade of Yerba Buena. On January 30, 1847 Lieutenant Bartlett's proclamation changing the name from Yerba Buena to San Francisco took effect.


	24. From H to H Chap 24 Matamoros

From Highlands to Homecoming By Margaret P.

Chapter 24: Matamoros (Words: 3,088)

The rain lashed the deck and the wind ripped at the sails. Murdoch and three others hauled at the mainsail as men braver than he felt he could ever be, climbed into the rigging. The storm had hit soon after the _Cassandra_ lost sight of Florida. God only knows where they were now, but if they came out of it alive it would be a miracle.

Crack! The main mast came crashing onto the deck narrowly missing Murdoch and the sailors pulling on the rope. The cabin boy exiting the forecastle yelped as he was thrown back down the ladder. Seamen ran, the captain screamed orders and Murdoch could only stand out of the way, holding on to the rail for grim death, until the captain hailed him again to help men at the stern. Gigantic waves crashed over the side. The deck was awash with salt water and broken timbers. Another crack and the mizzen mast shuddered. Then a lethal snap and the bowline broke on the spanker and whiplashed back. Murdoch was saved from certain death by the roll of a wave. The ship pitched violently and he was flung hard against the mast.

Armageddon lasted the rest of the day and most of the night. When Murdoch regained consciousness shortly before the storm reached its peak, his body was racked with pain. A jolt to his left side made him scream in agony. He lay whimpering, dreading the next sudden lurch, half-buried beneath sea-drenched rope and sail. Shattered timbers weighed heavy across his left leg and waist. Waves washed over him through a gaping hole in the bulwark. All he could see were rolling black clouds, illuminated by terrifying flashes of lightening. Thunder rumbled. Blood pounded in his ears, muffling yells and screams, but the wind could not be drowned out. It howled like banshees marauding over the ocean. The _Cassandra_ was a bucking bronco in the tempest, and Murdoch prayed.

When it was over, the ship lay becalmed on a mirror-glass ocean under blue skies in the Gulf of Mexico. Her sails were destroyed, the main mast was snapped in two and the mizzen leaned at a dangerous angle. Five sailors and Murdoch were seriously injured, one seaman was lost overboard and mariners and passengers alike looked like they should apply to the poorhouse.

"Man the boats," ordered the captain, and the only rowboat to survive the storm was lowered over the side. Sailors took turns at the oars as they slowly dragged the ruined ship towards safe harbour.

If he could have rolled over, Murdoch would have kissed the ground when he was finally carried ashore and laid down on a wide sandy beach. He was bruised and battered, and his leg was thought to be broken in two places. The ship's carpenter had constructed a splint that stretched from ankle to groin. It was extremely uncomfortable, but preferable to the acute agony he had suffered when he had first regained consciousness. Once the slow job of ferrying passengers and their luggage from the stricken brig was complete, the chief officer organised carts to be brought from a nearby town. Matamoros lay on the southern banks of the Rio Grande. He was in Mexico.

"It will take us weeks to repair the_ Cassandra_," the chief officer announced to the passengers when they reached the town square. "You'd best try for passage on another vessel or go by land."

"And how am I to do that without the fare?" yelled an angry young man. The officer had already broken the news that there could be no refunds from the captain's purse. They would have to write to the owners, though it was unlikely they would reimburse anyone.

Murdoch was not penniless, but his ready cash was low. He had enough under normal circumstances to get him home, but he had not bargained on spending much time ashore or paying twice to reach Panama. As he was stretchered to a taberna just off the square, he worried how he would make his money last.

With the help of a seaman who spoke fluent Spanish, the chief officer arranged for a room and for a doctor. It turned out there was an exception to the rule, and the captain's purse was to be opened to pay for Murdoch's accommodation and care. He had been injured attempting to help the crew, and the captain was a fair man.

"I will bring the money each week while we repair the _Cassandra_, and if we are ready before you are well, more will be left," the chief officer said as he paid the owner of taberna for the first week. He paid the doctor for his services in advance as he needed to get back to the ship.

Murdoch winced as the physician examined him. The many small lacerations and bruises did not seem to concern the doctor, but he took more time investigating the large angry bruise over Murdoch's abdomen, which extended from front to back. He left the leg until last. He confirmed two fractures, but the upper one he diagnosed as merely a crack. The doctor was pleased with the splint, and credited it with preventing more serious damage. Even so after removing the remains of Murdoch's trouser leg and cleaning the limb, he put Murdoch through further pain to straighten the broken sections of bone before applying a starch bandage and refitting the splint. "You will thank me in the end, Señor. Your urine is clear. If you do as I say, you will walk again and be as you were."

"How long?"

"You should be fit to travel in about six weeks, but for now you must stay in bed." Murdoch closed his eyes, and let his head fall back against the adobe wall. Six weeks!

The doctor ordered two weeks of complete bed rest. He would re-assess his patient at the end of it. As soon as he left, two women entered carrying fresh water and clean linen. One was middle-aged, the owner's wife. The other was a girl of about twenty, Mexican but with a hint of Spanish in her features and extraordinarily beautiful. She said very little as they stripped him of the remains of his shirt. It had dried to his skin laden with salt, sand and blood, and did not come away easily.

"Oh that feels so good," he said as the younger woman washed the grit from his skin. She smiled shyly and continued her work. "What is your name, Señorita?"

"Maria, Señor."

The owner's wife emptied the dirty water out the window as Maria unbuckled Murdoch's belt and pulled it free. She began to remove his trousers from his body. Cutting up the side of the unbroken leg with shearers, she pulled the fabric clear. The older woman stopped her from going too high. Shooing Maria from the room, she finished the job herself, preserving Murdoch's modesty with a towel. The Señora bathed his leg and feet, but turned her back and allowed him to wash the rest of his body himself. Eventually she handed him a clean nightshirt, and helped him under the covers before leaving the room.

Maria brought his meals and took care of all but his most personal needs; for those, she would fetch the owner or Raul, the stable hand, for help. A bell was provided so that he could ring when someone was needed, but increasingly Maria stayed longer than the occasion actually required.

She was the step-daughter of the owner, but the owner's wife was not her mother.

"Mama died over a year ago. My step-father has recently remarried," she explained to a confused Murdoch a few days later when they were more comfortable in each other's company. "My father was a capitán in the Mexican army. We came to Matamoros in 1835, and he was killed in the war with America the following year. The army does not support its widows or their children. My mother came here first to work, and later she married Señor Rodriguez. It was a marriage of convenience, but he is not unkind. I stay and sing and dance for his customers as did my mother before me. It pays for my keep and earns me a few pesos. One day I will leave."

"To marry?"

"Perhaps, but I will not marry for convenience."

They talked of many things those weeks of confinement. Murdoch told Maria about his ranch in California, his family in Scotland and eventually, hesitantly he talked about Catherine and little Scott. She listened to him and told her own stories of family and life. Never did she seek sympathy or overtly give it. Maria would not allow despondency. She lived for the moment and for the future. She was pragmatic and did not believe in dwelling on mistakes or past sorrows. She loved life, laughter and pretty things.

"I bought this in the market. Do you like it?" She twirled to show off her new dress.

"Beautiful, but not as beautiful as the señorita wearing it."

Maria enjoyed being the centre of his world. She laughed away his fears, and entered into his plans with enthusiasm. Attracted immediately by her outer beauty, Murdoch was soon in love with the inner woman as well. She was vibrant and volatile. She was bewitching. She was different to Catherine in so many ways, but as with Catherine he was in love before he recognised he was falling. Her feelings were less clear.

Throughout his period of complete bed-rest, Murdoch asked Maria to bring him things to read, books, newspapers, anything; in English from preference, but with her help, he would struggle through Spanish to get news of the outside world. She could not read, but as long as he could pronounce the words, she could tell him what they meant. It was in this way that he learned about the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo. The Mexican-American War had ended while he was being tossed about like a cork in the _Cassandra_. Without knowing it, he had been an American citizen for nearly three weeks.

Murdoch prayed silently as the doctor examined his leg the second time, and his prayers were answered. The doctor did not replace the splint. Instead he re-applied a starched bandage to Murdoch's lower leg only, and provided him with crutches.

"Don't move until sundown. It'll take that long for the bandage to dry hard. Go carefully for another couple of weeks and I'll check your leg again. The bruising round your waist and on your leg may look alarming, but you are healing well."

That evening Murdoch ate his dinner in the taberna. With Raul's help he negotiated the stairs to take a seat by the entrance to the kitchen where Maria could smile at him regularly as she went to and fro. He observed her as she took food to tables and cleared away plates. Vivacious and captivating, she held the attention of more than just him, and Murdoch realised he was not only jealous but anxious. She was laughing and chatting with men she was serving when a vaquero grabbed at her dress and pulled her into his lap. Murdoch reached for his crutches, but he was half-afraid to see what she would do. Would she flirt with the man like a common saloon girl? He need not have worried, nor was his assistance needed. Instead of cosying up to the amorous wrangler, she caused him to double over in pain, and with a stream of invectives she stormed off. Murdoch settled back in his chair with a huge grin on his face.

"Foolish man," commented a greying gentleman at the next table as he trimmed a panatela. "This is a taberna not a cantina. The women here are not for sale, and Señorita Maria has a very high opinion of her worth. She has the blood of Peninsulares in her veins. She would not waste herself on the likes of him. She seems to like you however, Señor."

Murdoch spent the next hour playing chess and talking to the observant Señor Acosta, the town lawyer, until the guitars started to play. The sound of the music attracted men in from the street. More drinks were ordered and when the tables were filled, Maria reappeared dressed like a Spanish dancer. And how she could dance! Murdoch watched in awe as she moved around the room, and he was not alone. Some men joined her on the dance floor, but the audience's eyes were all for Maria, and she thrived on the attention. The greater the applause the more extravagantly she performed, and when she needed to rest, she sat on a high stool and sang so sweetly that there were tears in the eyes of her listeners.

For the first few days Murdoch remained confined to the taberna, hobbling only short distances with his crutches. To pass the time he helped Raul mend tack in the stable or sat in the taberna, chatting with Maria as she worked. The doctor instructed him how to build up his muscles after their long confinement, and impatience made him do the exercises frequently.

By the following week he felt ready to escort Maria to the market. Stands with food, pottery, clothing and almost anything imaginable covered most of the town square. Stallholders cried out to customers to buy their wares, poultry squawked and goats strained at their leashes to reach tasty morsels nearby. The air was intoxicating with the heat and the smell of spices and flowers. Maria set out to buy fruit and vegetables, but she kept getting distracted by clothing, jewellery and lace. She tried on several items, parading them for Murdoch's entertainment and then returning them to the vendor's table.

Lifting a sombrero from its peg, she tiptoed to place it on his head. It was too big and flopped over his eyes. Murdoch played along and struck a pose while she stood back, with a twinkle in her eye pretending to judge his appearance. Shaking her head, she replaced it with another, and then with a montera. Resting his crutches against the side of the stall, Murdoch whipped a tablecloth up from the neighbouring stand and pretended it was a matador's cape. Using her hands to make horns, Maria lowered her head and ran towards it.

"Olé!" Murdoch nearly toppled over as she passed. Laughing they returned everything to their stands, and moved on before the stallholders had time to scold them.

Murdoch had some experience of markets, but this one was full of unfamiliar sights and sounds, especially the food. In addition to the tacos, bocoles and quesadillas Maria cajoled from vendors to feed to him, Murdoch tried cactus and even chapulines—grasshoppers. He was wary of the wide variety of chillies she encouraged him to taste, but it was when he discovered the tortilla he had just consumed contained mosquito eggs that he nearly choked.

When Maria came to an exquisite tortoise shell hair comb, she did not pick it up. It was expensive as well as finely made. She touched it with longing in her eyes, but then move on.

"Would you like it?" Murdoch asked. She looked back at him. Raising her eyes to his, she did not seem sure of his meaning. Murdoch nodded towards the comb. She hesitated and then gleefully took up the ornament and arranged her hair before a looking glass. Fixing her jet-black mane back with the comb, she turned left and right to see how well it looked, posing for Murdoch's approval. Murdoch took out his pocketbook. "Cuanto?"

After some negotiation the purchase was made. Murdoch would have to be careful with the remains of his money, but Maria's joy made the sacrifice worth it. She hugged him awkwardly through the crutches and kissed him on the cheek. "Me ecanta. Gracias!"

They continued on together, Maria putting her arm through his whenever they stopped. Walking with crutches was tiring however, and eventually Murdoch was forced to rest. Taking a seat on the low wall surrounding the town well, he waited while Maria purchased the food she had promised to buy for the taberna.

It was then that the wrangler from Murdoch's first night downstairs in the taberna reappeared. Seeing Maria alone, the man approached with some companions. Maria went to pass him, and he grabbed hold of her. Wrestling with her, he tried to steal a kiss. His friends stood by laughing as her basket fell to the ground spilling its contents into the dust.

The next minute the vaquero was also on the ground, spitting dirt from his mouth as Murdoch towered over him. When the vaquero rolled over to view his attacker, Murdoch pressed one of his crutches into the man's chest and held him down. He snarled at the vaquero's companions as they made a move to intervene. "Largarse!"

A crowd was gathering. The other vaqueros had not been looking for trouble, just a bit of fun. They weighed their chances against the giant but crippled gringo, finally deciding on retreat when Raul emerged from the throng to stand alongside him. With a look and a nod, they acknowledged Murdoch as the victor, and he allowed them to help their amigo up and drag him away.

That night after the taberna had closed, Murdoch lay in bed thinking of the day's events and the way he felt about Maria. A gentle breeze from the open window lapped at his bare chest and moonlight drew a path across the floor. Was it right to feel this way about another woman so soon after Catherine's death? But it was not really soon. Scott was two years old now. Catherine would have wanted him to move on, to find someone else. He knew that and yet part of him still felt guilty for having thoughts and feelings, which had long since lain dormant.

The click of the door latch interrupted his thoughts, and there in the moonlight she stood, bare-footed, the outline of her body clearly visible through her nightdress.

"Maria…."

Stepping forward, she pressed her fingers to his lips. Murdoch gazed into her eyes and felt like he was sinking into dark, seductive pools. When she kissed him on the lips, he shuddered, and the passion and love he had for her overcame the guilt. Drawing her down between the sheets, he surrendered himself to the softness of her touch and urgency of his hunger.


	25. From H to H Chap 25 New Beginning

From Highlands to Homecoming by Margaret P.

_(With thanks to my betas Terri Derr and Anna Orr)_

Chapter 25: New Beginning (Words: 1,772)

Six weeks to the day the doctor removed the cast from Murdoch's leg and did not replace it.

"The muscles are weak, and will need building up gradually," he explained, putting the scissors he used to cut through the starched bandage back in his bag. "But in a few more weeks you will be as good as new."

The doctor retrieved the crutches and offered Murdoch a walking stick instead. The multi-coloured bruising around Murdoch's middle had virtually disappeared. He was stiff, but the pain from both body parts had diminished to a dull ache and the occasional twinge.

Although on the mend, Murdoch was virtually stranded in Matamoros until the _Cassandra_ was repaired. The town had a harbour, but few vessels larger than a fishing barque ever visited. Travel overland to the nearest port of any size would take several days and it was not a journey Murdoch initially felt up to. Besides there were other considerations and he decided in the end to wait for the final repairs to the brig. By all reports they were nearly done. A mast was the chief hold up. The delay gave him time to think, not only about his ranch but about Maria. Ultimately three more weeks passed before the captain of the _Cassandra_ sent word. The message said the new main mast was expected to arrive on the following Monday. It would take a day or two to hoist into place and rig, and the ship would be ready to depart on Wednesday, Thursday at the latest. The _Cassandra_ would continue its journey to the Isthmus of Panama and Rio. Did Murdoch want passage?

He did. The only question was for how many. As soon as the messenger left, he went to find Maria. For several days now she had been behaving strangely, rising early and seemingly avoiding him for most of the morning.

Since their first night together, she had shared his bed. Her step-father did not seem to object. Murdoch suspected Señora Rodriguez had less sympathy with the arrangement, but Maria appeared unconcerned. Nor would she discuss Murdoch's own reservations about their situation.

"This is Mexico, mi amor. Our customs are different."

Murdoch's conscience niggled at him, but the temptation to accept such intimacy with no responsibilities was too great. He was stranded in Matamoros by his injuries and lack of transport. If Maria refused to demand more of him, then he would not spoil what they had by trying to impose his cultural conventions.

Their lovemaking was very different from what he had known before. Her zest for life transferred to the bedroom. His leg muscles may have been kept inactive by the starch bandage, but she ensured that every other muscle was well-exercised. Working in the taberna during the evenings, she was his from closing time until the early hours. They stayed in bed until late in the mornings and then explored the environs of Matamoros in the afternoons. Or so it had been until this last week. For the past few days, he had awoken to find Maria already up and gone.

"I missed you this morning."

"I had things to do. Shall we cross the bridge into Brownsville this afternoon? You haven't seen the other side of the Rio Grande yet."

"You mean the American side?" He ducked as Maria tossed a pillow at him. She continued to make the bed and came over to retrieve the pillow. Murdoch held it up high over her head, making her reach and jump for it. He then destroyed much of her hard work by falling with her onto the bedspread for a little midday canoodling.

She never did explain why she was rising early and Murdoch made more than one attempt to find out, but she appeared normal enough later so he let it ride. Now, however, the time had come to talk to her about something else, and he was not going to be put off. As he came downstairs he heard Maria and Señora Rodriguez arguing, their words too rapid for Murdoch to understand. They stopped abruptly when they saw him. With a look of exasperation in Maria's direction, the Señora marched past Murdoch into the kitchen.

"What was all that about?"

"You are walking without your stick!" Totally ignoring Murdoch's question, Maria threw herself into his arms and kissed him passionately.

Drawing her arms away from his neck, Murdoch chuckled and then attempted a more solemn face. "Much as I hate to interrupt you, I want to talk to you about something." He led Maria to table and sat her down. "The _Cassandra_ will be ready to sail next week. I intend to be on it, and I want you to come with me—as my wife. Maria, will you marry me?"

"No." Maria stood up suddenly and headed towards the kitchen. Almost back to normal, Murdoch moved quickly. He planted himself in front of her, preventing her from going through the archway.

"Why not, Maria? Don't you love me?"

"I will not marry for convenience. You only ask because you know. You do not really love me."

"Of course I love you. I have loved you from almost the first moment I saw you. And what do you mean 'I know'. Know what?"

By reflex Maria's hands went to her midriff as her eyes lowered and she turned away from him. It took a few seconds for Murdoch to understand. "Maria, are you expecting a baby—our baby?" Turning her around to face him, he saw the truth in her eyes. He embraced her, laughing, his heart filled with joy and hope for the future, but Maria was still upset. He lifted her chin gently and gazed into her eyes, so unusually filled with tears. "Maria, that is wonderful, but I didn't know. I asked you to marry me, because I love you."

"I do not believe you," Maria persisted angrily, breaking away from him again. Removing a cloth from the waist band of her skirt, she began to vigorously polish a table. "You ask because you think you have to. Well, you don't. I can look after myself and my child. I don't need your gallantry."

"When have I ever lied to you, Maria? You don't always tell me the truth, but when have I ever lied to you?" Murdoch pulled her around by the shoulder, forcing her to stop what she was doing. He was getting angry now himself. They glared at each other. "I don't deny I would have offered to marry you regardless of my feelings if I had known about the bairn. Where I come from that is the right thing to do. But I love you, Maria. Knowing you carry our child makes me more determined to make you see sense, but I asked you because I love you. Are you saying that you don't love me?"

Maria held herself, arms crossed over her chest, looking at the floor. He waited for her response. It came in a hesitant voice, little more than a whisper. "I am Mexican. You are el Gringo. How would that work?"

"It will work, if we want it to work. You weren't worried before, so why start now? If you love me, Maria, you can't say you're marrying me 'for convenience', and if I'm asking 'for convenience' it is only in terms of timing. I would have asked you sooner, but I wasn't sure how you felt about me. I may have taken longer, but I've no more time. The _Cassandra_ is sailing. I must return to my ranch. I love you Maria and I love that you bear my child. Marry me—please." Murdoch took her in his arms once again. He sensed she was weakening. A flicker of a smile and a hopeful glance upwards into his eyes, and he knew that he had won.

Their marriage took place on the following Sunday. Señor and Señora Rodriguez witnessed their vows, and hosted a fandango at the taberna in their honour. The wedding night was no less special for being consummated some weeks earlier. The happy couple boarded the _Cassandra_ as Mr and Mrs Murdoch Lancer, and by late May they were riding through the Lancer arch.

"Well, you're a sight for sore eyes. We expected you back weeks ago." Taking the reins from Murdoch, Paul O'Brien tied the mule with the luggage to the rail of the corral as Murdoch dismounted.

"I know, Paul. I'm sorry. By God, it's good to see you." Murdoch clapped his foreman on the shoulder and shook his hand. "I would have got a message to you if I could, but my ship was damaged in a storm. I was injured and stranded in Matamoros in Mexico. There is no regular shipping through there." Murdoch turned to hold the other horse steady as Maria got down. She had made no attempt to dismount before. She had just stared at the hacienda. "Paul, I know this will come as a bit of a surprise, but I'd like you to meet my wife. Maria, this is Paul O'Brien, my Segundo."

Slightly stunned, Paul looked between Murdoch and his bride, and then with a huge grin said, "Well, how do you do, Mrs Lancer. I'm very pleased to make your acquaintance. Pardon me for thinking there were other incentives for staying in Matamoros."

Maria acknowledged his words with a shy smile. Murdoch then led her inside introducing her to more ranch hands and women along the way. They had materialised from nowhere, standing in groups between the corral where the couple dismounted and the entrance to the hacienda. Maria said very little. Murdoch recognised she was overwhelmed and did not linger. Estella was waiting for them inside, having directed the men with the luggage to Murdoch's room. She smiled politely at Maria as they were introduced and then retired to the kitchen to organise some food and drink, while Murdoch and Maria went to their bedroom to freshen up.

"You are very wealthy, Murdoch. I didn't realise." Maria took off her hat and jacket, and laid them on the chair as she looked around the room.

"One day perhaps. At the moment I have a lot of land and a lot of debt to go with it. The hacienda was built by the previous owner. Do you like it?"

"Very much, but it's so grand. I feel out of place."

"Give it time. You'll soon know everyone and be mistress of this house," Murdoch comforted. "Come on, let's get out of these dusty things and I'll show you around."


	26. From H to H Chap 26 Discovery

**From Highlands to Homecoming** by Margaret P

_(My thanks to betas, Terri Derr and Anna Orr, for their patience and invaluable advice.)_

**Chapter 26: Discovery** (Words: 2,392)

"Gold! But why do you look so unhappy, mi amor? Isn't gold a good thing?" Maria could not understand Murdoch's attitude. Paul had saved the news about the discovery of gold in the American River on John Sutter's New Helvetia estate until Murdoch had enjoyed a good night's sleep.

"Thought I'd let you settle in a bit first." Paul tightened the girth on his horse as Murdoch watched José and a crew of men ride out to the east mesa. Three other crews had already received their orders and ridden away. Paul would join the men clearing the creek on the south side once he had finished reporting to Murdoch.

"How many men have we lost?"

"Only Alberto and Ramón Hernandez so far. Young blood. They tried panning around here for a week or two, but didn't find anything, so they headed north."

"Well, I'm pleased they didn't find any gold on Lancer land. I'm surprised Juan and Cip didn't go too."

"Juan is head of the household since his father's death. He will not leave his mother and sisters. Cip probably would have gone for a while if the news had come a week or two earlier, but he won't be going anywhere now—not until next year at any rate. Been strutting round like a rooster since Maria told him. Baby's due November, I think."

"Really? Well, I know how he feels. I'm going to be a father again in early December."

"You sure have been busy, Boss," Paul chuckled. "Congratulations. Well, I'm glad you and a few men who know how to handle cattle will be sticking around, because I've had a deuce of a job finding wranglers for the drive. I've persuaded some men to see out the season with us and try their luck in the fall. Might even join them for a while. Had to up the wages though. Sorry about that."

Murdoch thanked Paul for all his hard work and returned to the hacienda for his breakfast. There was a lot to think about.

"Could be worse. At least we do have enough for the cattle drive, and hopefully they'll be more demand for beef if we get an influx of miners." Murdoch mopped up his egg yolk with a fresh biscuit as Maria poured him more coffee.

"When will this cattle drive be?"

"Probably leave the end of next week." Murdoch took a last gulp of coffee and stood up to go.

"Next week! We've only just arrived and you are planning to abandon me already. I don't want you to go, Murdoch."

"I'm sorry, lass, but I've got to. You'll be fine. Estella and the others will look after you." Murdoch grabbed his hat and headed out the door.

The first few days back were incredibly busy, catching up on everything that had happened on the ranch and further afield in California. Most of his neighbours seemed happy about becoming part of the United States. Don Allende was not, but Don Caldera was sanguine.

"Now we shall see if the American government does more for California than Mexico, my friend. Though, a gold rush may do more to change our fortunes than any politician."

"You do not think gold is a bad thing, Don Caldera?" Maria asked her host politely.

"No, my dear. It will cause us some problems certainly, and I'm glad gold has not been found on the Estancia Caldera, but gold will bring people and California needs more people to make it great. I look forward to being part of the transformation."

On the long drive home Murdoch asked how Maria had enjoyed dining with one of the first families of the area. He was surprised by her response.

"Don Caldera is an agreeable man, but I do not like Doña Mercedes. She is the worst kind of Peninsulares—all airs and graces, looking down on me when I am now her equal."

"She and Catherine always got on. She was …"

"Well, of course if she got on with Catherine, she can do no wrong!" Maria's temper flared and nothing Murdoch said from then on would appease her. They went to bed angry, but in the morning she was full of affection again and Murdoch arrived late to his meeting with his foremen.

The cattle drive began the following day. Murdoch left with José Ramos, four wranglers, two gunhawks and old Miguel driving the chuck wagon. Men were in short supply. Cipriano's grandfather normally spent his days doing odd jobs and snoozing in the sun not feeding hungry vaqueros. In addition, two of the wranglers, Pablo Hernandez and Javier Ramos, were no more than boys.

"Beggars can't be chooses, José, but your lad is doing well. Both the young'uns are." Murdoch and his foreman watched as Javier drove a stray steer back to the herd, and then Murdoch rode ahead.

San Francisco in the summer of 1848 was not the San Francisco Murdoch visited late the previous year. Already the discovery of gold was making an impact. Murdoch estimated the population may have doubled, and while that would still put it at little more than one thousand, it was a noticeable increase. Once, the trading post had stood out on the hillside, a lone building overlooking the bay. Now it was surrounded by tents and hastily built cottages. There was more construction in progress. A pier was being built and a livery. Where one, perhaps two ships would have been at anchor at the height of the season, now there were four, as well as one smaller vessel pulled up on the mudflats clearly acting as some kind of dwelling. A clipper weighed anchor and sailed towards open seas as Murdoch made his way to the trading post.

"Delayed eight days trying to find crew to replace those that jumped ship," New England Enterprises' agent Josiah Brown informed him, wiping his brow with a chequered handkerchief. "The _Providence_ is suffering the same problem. You'd have missed us otherwise. I'll take two hundred head. That should fill us and keep the crew busy until another couple of seamen can be found. Moses Stein will likely take the rest. He's just come in with the _Hanover_."

"This is nothing," Richardson predicted with enthusiasm. "Once the vessels that have sailed in the past few months reach their destinations, the whole world will know there is gold to be had in California. The ships and men will come in their droves, and I'll do a roaring trade."

Daniel Johnson felt the same way. He came to the campsite in the evening when he heard the Lancer men were in town. He had travelled to San Francisco on business two days before, leaving Sarah to look after the shop. A substantial order for pick axes, shovels and other mining equipment was now on its way to Boston.

"Walker next door is keeping an eye on Sarah for me," he said accepting a mug of coffee. "Opportunities like this don't come too often, so had to get my order dispatched. With luck my stock and my customers will arrive at the same time. I hear congratulations are in order."

"Likewise," Murdoch responded. "When is Sarah due?"

"August, and the heat's getting to her already. You and that beautiful young wife best come to dinner before she gets too crotchety to entertain." Daniel helped himself to some stew. "The rumour mill says you're to become a father again in December?"

"News travels fast."

"The matriarchs of Green River have had you in their sights ever since Catherine died, Murdoch. You must know that. They've just been waiting for the two years of mourning to be up. They're none too happy with you now. Marrying before their daughters and sisters could lay their claims. I'm surprised at you man, have you no sense of decency?" Daniel laughed at his own joke, and then in a quieter voice added, "And I should warn you, they've done the math."

"How does Sarah feel about it?"

"Sarah. My God I won the prize when she answered my advertisement. Sarah loved Catherine, you know that, and I did wonder how she'd react, but she's happy for you."

"And …?"

"And she has already given Jemima Smith a lecture on Christian charity and casting stones. I wasn't supposed to hear their conversation, so don't say anything, but my Sarah will give your new bride a fair shake, Murdoch. We'll expect you both for Sunday lunch."

Daniel accompanied Murdoch back to the San Joaquin. Half the men remained in San Francisco to cut the wolf loose after Murdoch paid them their wages. Time would tell whether any of them would return to the ranch or if they would equip themselves with the few tools Richardson still had for sale at extortionate prices and head for the American River or into the Sierra Nevada to try their luck.

Maria welcomed Murdoch home with enthusiasm. She had been busy in his absence. The great room had taken on a much more Mexican feel. She looked to Murdoch for praise.

"You've changed things." Murdoch was slightly stunned but tried not to show it.

"Si, do you like it? I've discarded those fussy doilies and replaced the curtains with ones more in keeping with the hacienda's Mexican style."

"Very nice," he said with more enthusiasm than he felt. His eyes travelled to the bookcase. "Where are the photographs and there was a wee bag with coal in it?"

"Estella explained about the coal. I've put that in your desk drawer. Do you like these candlesticks, mi amor. I discovered them in Morro Coyo. Aren't they beautiful?"

"The photographs, where are the photographs?" Murdoch could not disguise a mounting panic.

Maria's voice turned cold. "The photograph of your son is on your desk. I do not know where the rest are. Ask Estella. I told her to put them out of sight. I am Señora Lancer now."

"No one denies that, Maria, but you should have talked to me first." Although relieved that the photographs of Catherine were safe, Murdoch felt confused and numb. He had not expected Maria to react this way. True he had not really thought about what it would be like for her left alone at Lancer so soon after their arrival. He felt guilty about that, but he also felt angry. She had not thought about how her actions would affect him. She should have waited.

"You were not here to talk to, mi marido. When I discovered I was sharing my house with a ghost, I wanted her gone as soon as possible." Maria stood defiantly in front of him, but then she smiled and put out her hand to caress his face. He battled with conflicting emotions. "Come, Murdoch, let us not fight as soon as you come home. I am sorry, I did not wait, but your photographs are safe and you do understand my feelings. I am your wife now. It is not right to have your first wife on display. Come, mi amor, let me prove to you that your thoughts should be on the living."

Sunday lunch with the Johnson's was a success. Murdoch was relieved. In all honesty, he had not been sure how Maria and Sarah would get on. Sarah and Daniel Johnson welcomed Maria with genuine goodwill however, and she seemed to recognise that. Maria spoke English well, so even though Sarah's Spanish was still not good, they had no trouble in conversing and when the men went outside for a cigar leaving them alone, they evidently found something to talk about. At least they were laughing when Murdoch and Daniel returned.

"I was telling Sarah how silly you looked in a sombrero," Maria explained later as Murdoch drove her home. "She has offered to help me with my wardrobe to appease the upright ladies of Green River. I shall visit her on Thursday and she will introduce me to a few of them."

"Hmm, that's nice." Murdoch was amazed that Maria had accepted any advice about the way she dressed. Sarah certainly was a diplomat beyond compare. Even so, he wished he felt more confident about the pleasantness of the pending introductions. He knew he should have made more effort himself to escort Maria around Green River. He had made a start with Morro Coyo, but he feared Daniel's assessment of the Green River ladies was all too close to the truth. He was relieved that Sarah had volunteered her services.

"By Sarah's description, I will not like many of them, but then as she says, at least I do not have to see them every day. I pity her tied to that shop, having to be polite to witches. I remember it was like that when I worked in the taberna, only it was mostly boorish men I had to deal with."

"I don't recall you being overly polite to them," Murdoch observed with a sly look at his wife. "I do hope you are more restrained with the good ladies of Green River."

"I will try, Murdoch. For your sake, I will try. I have warned Sarah to get me away quickly if my eyes start to flash."

Murdoch was pleased she could laugh at herself. He reined the buggy to a halt outside the hacienda. "Aye bonnie lass, you can be fiery. But at least you know it, and you know how important it is to be on good terms with our neighbours. I'll trust you not to cause too much uproar then."

"Oh, I might need a little encouragement to be good," Maria said wickedly as Murdoch helped her down. Leading the way through the entrance hall to their bedroom, she discarded her travel wear and removed Murdoch's hat. "By all accounts, it could take a lot of patience to withstand the ladies of Green River." She undid his tie. "Even with Sarah's help I'm not sure I have the fortitude." She released her hair from its comb. "Perhaps you should remind me what I would miss out on if I failed to control my temper." Looking deep into his eyes, she moistened her lips and then whispered into his ear. "Why don't you show me now what I would miss out on if I lost your affection?"


	27. From H to H Chap 27 December 23rd

From Highlands to Homecoming By Margaret P.

_(With thanks to betas Terri Derr and Anna Orr for their support and advice.)_

Chapter 27: December 23rd (Words: 1,692)

Murdoch escaped through the French doors. Cipriano, who had been keeping him company in the great room, followed. "It's normal, Patrón. My Maria even swore. My Maria never swears. It means nothing. All will be well."

Estella had appeared briefly two hours before when the doctor arrived. She had said everything was going well, but Murdoch could not calm his growing fear. The doctor had emerged again briefly to retrieve his medical box from his buggy. He had looked surprised at Murdoch's anxiety. The man was too young. Murdoch was not sure he knew what he was doing.

Dr George Owens had arrived in Green River in August in time to attend the birth of Murdoch's second goddaughter. Catherine Beatrice Johnson was the first baby Dr Owens delivered; she arrived on time with excellent lungs and vocal cords. The young physician had embarked on an adventure to go west fresh out of medical school. He had been diverted from the Oregon Trail to California by the news of gold and then enticed to the rapidly growing community of Green River by Daniel Johnson's entreaties.

Daniel had gone especially to the even faster growing Swiss colony of New Helvetia in July when he heard it now boasted both a midwife and a doctor in residence. He had hoped to persuade one of them to visit Green River to attend his wife. When he had got to Sutter's Fort, however, he had found a second doctor, Owens, newly arrived and eager to go where he was needed most. Four deliveries later, all of them girls, and including Murdoch's third goddaughter, Catarina Estella Ramirez Hernandez, George Owens was beginning to get a reputation for not only being a good doctor but one with a magic touch. Only Maria herself was convinced that she was having a son. Murdoch just prayed that the child and its mother remained safe.

He wanted to be joyous, for Maria's sake as well as his own, but visions of what he imagined to be Catherine's last hours plagued him, and the ache of loss he felt whenever he thought of her or Scott seem to intensify as Maria's due date drew closer. He fought against the very idea that tragedy could happen twice, but there were times when the panic rose inside of him. All he could do was to escape company until he gained control of his emotions once again.

The past few weeks had been stressful for everyone. Maria was due early December. Everyone had said so, but the baby thought otherwise. He or she was obviously comfortable in there and was in no hurry to experience the winter chill.

"Nothing to worry about," declared Dr Owens after examining Maria. "Everything seems fine. Some babies just like to be well-cooked."

It was a great pity that the child's mother was not equally at ease. Life with Maria could be tempestuous at the best of times, but once the due date passed, she became irascible from morning to night.

"I look and feel like a beached whale!" Maria moaned as Murdoch poured himself a pre-dinner drink. She lowered her unusual bulk into the only chair she found remotely comfortable.

"A very beautiful whale."

"If that is supposed to be funny, you'd better stick to branding cattle. This is all your fault. Now I'm paying for it. Stop laughing at me!" Maria searched around her for something to throw at her husband. "Estella, where are you? Where have you put my cushion? Why are you always moving things?"

Oddly Maria and Estella got on better during this time. Over the months since they had arrived from Matamoros, Murdoch had heard his wife complain many times about how Estella resisted all Maria's attempts to establish herself as Señora Lancer.

"She idolised Catherine. How am I to compete with a ghost? She questions everything I ask her to do and undermines me with the other women at every turn." Maria stamped her foot in frustration.

Estella was not one to voice her views to Murdoch, and she may have had a different version of events. Murdoch was aware Maria went about things in a way that did not always encourage cooperation, but he suspected there could be truth in what his wife said. Estella had lost a lot during the past few years though, and he had resisted Maria's sometimes heated suggestions that she should also lose her job.

As Maria got larger and less confident about the birth, however, her relationship with Estella seemed to improve. Every chink in Maria's armour appeared to make Estella more accommodating. Perhaps having seven babies of her own gave her patience and an understanding of the mother-to-be that was beyond Murdoch's comprehension. Until two days before Christmas he had found it safest just to stay out of the way as much as possible.

Murdoch made a point of never being far away, but he kept out of the hacienda during the day except at mealtimes. He had come in for breakfast just after eight. There was no food on the table. He was about to go into the kitchen when he heard Maria groan loudly. Dashing down the hall to the bedroom, he entered through the open door. His heart drummed in his chest as he approached his wife. "Is it time?"

Maria was gripping the bed-end, leaning forward, eyes to the floor. As soon as the contraction passed, she turned to him and smiled. She placed his hand on her swollen belly so he could feel the new life moving inside her. "Your son has slept long enough. He has decided to join us in time for Navidad."

Estella entered the room carrying towels and old linen. She bustled past them and started to prepare the bed for the birth. "You must go now, Patrón. This is women's work. I have sent for the doctor. He is the only man now allowed in here. Go. I will look after Señora Lancer."

That had been twelve hours ago. Twelve hours! Since that time Murdoch had chopped enough wood to last until next Christmas, straightened every bit of bent metal in the smithy and for the past three hours waited in the great room like a caged lion. He had counted the tiles on the floor and crossed from the sofa or desk or armchair or fireplace to the hall leading to the bedrooms so many times he thought he would go mad. God he hated waiting. He wanted to do something, but what could he do? He dared not leave the hacienda again to work, he could not concentrate of his accounts and Estella would not allow him into his bedroom even to see Maria for a moment. He knew. He had tried.

And always just below the surface of his mind, haunting him, were the nightmare images of blood, pallid greying skin and eyes filled with pity.

Paul and José had looked in after their day's work. They had stayed for a while, but left for their dinners when new father, Cipriano, arrived. Cipriano had joined him in the great room after sharing an evening meal with his own family. "I've brought you some morisqueta."

Murdoch waved the food away. He had no appetite.

The doctor had been in Morro Coyo resetting a dislocated shoulder. It had taken Diego hours to find him and even then, Owens had not hurried. Apparently Estella had told Diego to say there was no need to rush. Damned woman, she should have told him it was urgent. When Murdoch had been in the hallway trying for the third time to persuade Estella to let him in, he had heard Maria groan with each contraction. They were coming more frequently. He was sure the doctor should have been told to come immediately.

When Dr Owens finally arrived Murdoch had greeted him with relief. By showing the physician the way to the bedroom, he had got a glimpse of Maria when the door was opened, but Estella was firm. He could not go in. The doctor had only left Maria that one time since. That was good. Everyone said Dr Owens was a good doctor. Every new mother was well and singing his praises. He had delivered every baby safely—so far.

Murdoch paced the ground outside the French doors. He had stayed in the great room until the screaming. The hacienda's walls were thick. Sound did not travel easily through them, and yet he could hear Maria scream, not once but again and again. He had tried to go to her, but Cipriano had stopped him saying he was not needed, that he would just be in the way. Murdoch had escaped outside.

He focussed on the brightest star in the sky. "Please God let them be all right."

The French doors opened behind him. Estella touched his shoulder. "You can go in now, Señor Lancer."

Murdoch ran. He paused as his hand gripped the handle of the bedroom door, and then entered too full of emotion to know how he was feeling. Dr Owens was busy cleaning and putting his equipment away. Maria was in bed propped up on pillows and in her arms …

"Come and see your son, Murdoch." Maria's eyes had never looked so happy, or so soft. Tears glistened on her cheeks. Gently she pulled the shawl she had knitted back to expose the sleeping infant, damp black hair and perfect in every way.

Murdoch sat on the edge of the bed, and Maria passed him his son. Cradling the little boy as though he might break, Murdoch kissed Maria. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," she hiccoughed half laughing, half crying. "I never imagined I could feel this way. Isn't it wonderful?"

Murdoch just smiled. Rising he walked his son to the window. The stars twinkled brightly against the black velvet of a moonless sky. The infant stirred. Staring up at his father it was as if those steady blue eyes expected an answer to a question. "Well now, wee man. Your mama and I have discussed it. How does John Tomàs Lancer suit you?"


	28. From HtoH Chap28 Surprising Developments

From Highlands to Homecoming by Margaret P.

_(My thanks to Terri Derr and Anna Orr for their patience and advice.)_

Chapter 28: Surprising Developments (Words: 2,016)

Fatherhood suited Murdoch. He survived the first three months—the period when every new father learns a lot more about his wife's anatomy than he ever wanted to know, and he discovers that sleepless nights are not just the province of the mother. Johnny suffered mild colic and wakefulness, but perseverance got them through it, and Murdoch was more than willing to take his turn pacing the floor in the early hours to soothe his crying son when hunger was not the issue. He even changed the occasional diaper, though he swore Maria to secrecy about that.

"The old guardhouse comes in handy if you've got a spare hour," Cipriano informed him as Murdoch yawned for the third time. "I left a pillow and a blanket in there. The bunk isn't too uncomfortable."

"What a good idea," Murdoch said, giving Cipriano a look of approval for his brilliance. "I was awake half the night."

"I can't take the credit," Cipriano laughed, shaking his head. "That guardhouse has been used to catch up on sleep by the new fathers of this estancia since the days of mi abuelo."

By April they were over the worst. Johnny and Maria had settled into a routine, and the end of each day offered up the kind of homecoming Murdoch had always dreamed of. Johnny was a happy infant, very inquisitive. Once his eyes could focus they seemed to search the room for anything and everything of interest, and even without words the bairn could make his wishes known. Murdoch was forever carrying him closer to objects and animals that caught his attention. His eyes had stayed blue. It was the one feature he had inherited from Murdoch. In every other way he resembled his mother. Like his brother before him, he loved to grab hold of things, most particularly his parents' hair.

"Make him let go, Murdoch," Maria laughed as she tried to get the boy into his bath before bed. Murdoch peeled back the strong little fingers one by one until Maria could get her head free. He lifted Johnny into the preserving pan on the kitchen table that doubled as the baby's bath.

"You little devil!" Still holding his son but with arms out stretched, Murdoch jumped back to dodge the wave of water that came at him as Johnny kicked vigorously and squealed with glee.

The joys and dangers of fatherhood aside, Murdoch still had a ranch to run. Preparations for the first cattle drive of the season were well underway by the beginning of May. They would leave a little earlier this time so they could take it slow. Murdoch had heard there was greater demand for beef and wanted to ensure the animals arrived in good condition. As he rode off, Maria held Johnny up to watch him go and helped the tot wave his father goodbye.

"I envy you, Boss." Paul turned back to face the way they were headed. The herd and vaqueros spread out in front of them as they passed the chuck wagon. "Diego! Wake up—to your left."

The daydreaming vaquero pulled back on his reins and chased after the heifer trying to escape the herd into the trees. Murdoch urged his horse forward to catch up with Paul, who had cantered up to take Diego's place on the wing. "Your turn will come. One day you'll meet some bonnie lass, and you'll not know what hit you."

None of the men quite knew what hit them when they arrived in San Francisco. If Murdoch had been surprised by the progress he had witnessed when he drove his cattle to market in 1848, it was nothing to his amazement when he arrived at the end of May 1849. Richardson had been right. The ramshackle town had not just doubled its population this time; one thousand residents had become over 20,000, and new migrants arrived daily. More ships than he could count filled the harbour. Construction was in full swing and a more ethnically mixed population would be hard to imagine. In his time there had always been a few Sandwich Islanders and whites mixed with the local Mexican and Indian population, but now judging by the colours and accents he heard walking down only a few blocks of Montgomery Street, there were migrants from throughout Europe, the Americas, Asia and the Pacific.

"Lancer, hold up!" The rotund form of Josiah Brown came panting to a stop beside him as Murdoch returned to stockyard. "I'll buy them all."

"Oh no you don't, Brown. You'll not do me out of my fair share of the best herd to come in this month." Moses Stein took out his pocket watch and checked the time. "I think we should partake of some refreshments, gentlemen, and negotiate. You're from the San Joaquin, aren't you, Lancer? A drive direct to Sacramento would not be out of the question, I suspect. I shall talk to you about that later."

Murdoch allowed himself to be led away into a nearby saloon where he listened in awe as the two stock agents bid each other up for the honour of purchasing his cattle. When he returned to camp a short distance from the stockyards, Paul poured him a coffee from the jug on the fire.

"You look like you've just been run over by a stampede, Boss."

"Aye, you could say that. Do you know how much I got per head at the end of last season?"

"Double the normal wasn't it?"

"Aye, I got $10 per head. I thought Christmas had come early. My God, I never dreamed…!"

"Doubled again has it? Can't say I'm surprised. Look at this place. I've never seen so many people in one spot before."

Murdoch gulped at his coffee and handed Paul one of the two bills of sale he held in his hand. In the end Brown and Stein had bought half each for the same price. Paul scanned the page to find the figure. "Holy shit!"

Once he got over the shock, Murdoch decided he would use some of this extraordinary windfall to pay his foremen a bonus. He gave Paul his the following morning. "I don't know what to say, Boss. It's too much."

"You've seen me safely through more troubles than I like to think about, Paul. It's only fair I reward you and José for your efforts while I can. I doubt prices like this will last."

Before heading back to the ranch, Murdoch had other business to attend to. First he visited Portsmouth Square near the town centre. A bank had opened there earlier in the year. As he did not like the idea of carrying so much gold, Murdoch decided to open an account and leave some of it behind.

"If you are interested, Mr Lancer, I can put you in the way of some good investment opportunities," the bank manager offered. "Messrs Sweeny and Baugh are looking to construct an electric telegraph. Their station house has been a big success."

Murdoch agreed the bank manager could say he was interested enough to look over their proposal as long as it was solely a financial investment on his part. He had no time to devote to the enterprise. He would write to James McIntyre in Boston and ask his advice. Perhaps he could recommend a lawyer in California. Or maybe Alfred could do that. He must be in California by now.

Alfred Burke, the land agent, was in California. Murdoch was heading back to camp when he bumped into him and his wife strolling down the street in the opposite direction. "Murdoch! I heard you were in town. We've just been down to the stockyards looking for you."

G.W. Burke and Son Ltd had opened offices in San Francisco, and Alfred had moved his family to California so he could head the branch. "McIntyre and Associates are opening a branch here too. McIntyre asked me to let you know, so you didn't tie yourself to another law firm. I think you've met his eldest son, Will? He and Jackson, one of the Associates, were scheduled to leave Boston in April. They can't be far away now."

Alfred showed Murdoch where his offices were located and invited him for dinner. The Burkes had purchased a newly built wooden house on California Hill a convenient distance from the centre of town. "The laws governing property are a bit of a mess at the moment, but this will be prime real estate in years to come as will the Estancia Lancer. You'll be pleased you took our advice and continued with the surveying."

"When I had the money to spare. Still a lot to do, especially for the land acquired later."

"Believe me you are well prepared compared to many. Your ownership of the land we sold you will stand up to scrutiny under any of the systems I have heard talked of so far. Don't go spending all the money you're getting for your cattle at the moment though. These prices can't last and you'll need cash not credit when the bubble bursts. Some of your neighbours are already facing problems. Don Marques wants to sell his land, but he has to prove his ownership under American law first or persuade people to purchase with the risk that the government could later not recognise their title. I'm doing what I can for him, but that and the lack of surveyed boundaries will push the price down."

"But he was granted much of his land under Spanish rule and the rest when the Mexican's first broke up the missions in the '30s. He was well established when I arrived."

"True, but like other Californios he didn't bother to fulfil all the conditions of his grants; and then when Haney's lot were running rampant, he walked away. There are more squatters on that land now than I can count and they all lay claim by right of occupancy. I'll be lucky to find buyers at a quarter of its worth. You interested in the section between Lancer's boundary and the river?"

Murdoch's mind was still full of everything he'd seen and heard in San Francisco as he rode up to the hacienda, but the welcome he receive drove such trivialities from his mind. Maria had heard the guard cry out as he came through the arch. She was outside waiting with Johnny struggling in her arms to get free and greet him.

"Hello Johnny. Are you pleased to see me, wee man?" Kissing Maria as she released the boy to him, Murdoch let Johnny stroke his horse's mane before untying his saddlebags one-handed.

Back in the great room he lowered Johnny onto his rug on the floor, and greeted his wife properly. "I think I'll have to go away more often if this is the welcome I get when I return."

"Hmm, you only get welcomed back if I still remember you. Go away more often I might forget and find someone new," Maria teased drawing Murdoch's head down for another kiss.

"You wanton hussy! I've a mind not to give you your present." Murdoch picked up his saddlebags and pretended he was going to leave the room. Maria pulled him back laughing. "All right then. Now you're not to expect this every trip, but the cattle sold for a particularly good price this time."

Murdoch extracted a small rectangular parcel from one of the saddlebags. Maria accepted it with glee and torn at the paper in excitement. With trepidation she opened the green leather jewellery box. "Oh, Murdoch!"

"Do you like it?" Murdoch lifted the etched gold locket from its bed of satin and fastened it around Maria's neck as she stood in front the mirror.

"It's beautiful! Don't you think Mama's locket is beautiful, Johnny?" Maria and Murdoch turned to where they had left Johnny playing happily on his blanket, but he was gone.

There was a moment of alarm and then Murdoch looked down at his feet. "Well, what do you know, the bairn can crawl!"

Notes:

1. The old guardhouse features in The Lawman, Series 1, Episode 5.

2. California Hill (after California Street, which climbs its steep eastern face) was the pre-1850s name for Nob Hill.


	29. From H to H Chap 29 Boom

**From Highlands to Homecoming** by Margaret P.

_(With thanks to Terri Derr and Anna Orr for their patience and advice.)_

**Chapter 29: Boom** (Words: 2,934)

Murdoch drove cattle direct to Sacramento in July. The deal offered by Moses Stein had been too good to turn down. He also committed to another Sacramento drive in late October, in addition to the regular one to San Francisco in September. At these prices he told himself, he would be silly to pass up the opportunity. By July he was beginning to have second thoughts. If he kept this up he would run his herds down to nothing and it would be a hard road to recovery. He would agree to nothing more until winter; when the season was over he would take a long hard look at everything and plan ahead.

At the very heart of the goldfields, Sacramento was booming. The new carefully-designed city on the confluence of the American and Sacramento Rivers looked likely to become more important than New Helvetia or any other previously established settlement in the area. The town's development had been astutely handled by John Sutter Junior and colleagues, although interestingly it did not have the support of Sutter Senior. Apparently Sacramento was even being considered as a possible site for a state capital; or so Murdoch was told by several influential citizens when he arrived. After explaining the town's many virtues, they pressed him to meet with the governor to discuss the possibility and promote their case.

"You are one of the largest landowners in the San Joaquin Valley, and may I say one of the most highly respected, sir. I would welcome your opinion on the subject." The governor offered Murdoch a cigar from his own private supply and sat back to listen to what he had to say as though Murdoch was a man of importance. Murdoch was both flattered and concerned by this treatment.

Always in the past his Californio neighbours, Don Allende and Don Caldera had enjoyed the ear of the governors. Now under American rule, politicians seemed to be by-passing them as they looked increasingly to more recent settlers. Murdoch was alarmed by some of the rhetoric and legislation that was fast making the Indian and California-born Mexican populations into second class citizens. He expressed as much to the governor, who listened politely, but asked that he confine himself to the topic under discussion. "California is headed towards statehood. A state needs a capital, and towns vie for the privilege. Which of those I have mentioned, would you consider most suitable, Lancer and why?"

Murdoch emerged from the meeting with mixed feelings. The governor had shown genuine interest in his views about the location of a new state capital and the economic development of the area, but he had clearly not wished to discuss social concerns. Was he a man, who would make decisions according to political expediency regardless of the rights and wrongs of the matter? Murdoch hoped not. He had hoped joining the United States would bring California greater opportunities, not laws that gave some men more rights than others or worked against local traditions. Murdoch was worried by what he saw as political support for attitudes that would disadvantage his own wife and son.

The situation did not improve over the next few months, but summer was a busy time at the ranch and Murdoch had little time to think about anything else. In addition to the cattle drives there was the calving, weaning and branding, and the daily movement of the cattle to new pasture. The planting and harvesting of feed crops was also done at this time, along with a myriad of general maintenance activities, which continued throughout the year. Murdoch was busy from daybreak to sundown, and had very little energy left by the end of each day.

"Murdoch, wake up." Maria nudged him with her foot. He had got down on the floor with Johnny to read him his bedtime story, because the book was so large and the boy had wanted to look closely at every picture. It was easier on the floor. Once finished, however, Maria had taken their son off to bed, and Murdoch had relaxed a moment with his head resting on the sofa. He must have dozed off.

"Sarah has been telling me about a grand fiesta planned for September in San Francisco. She and Daniel are going, and I thought we could too."

After further enquiries Murdoch discovered city merchants and other commercial interests had grouped together to host an open-air ball in Portsmouth Square. It was being held soon after he would be in town with the cattle drive. If Maria travelled with the Johnsons he could meet them there and spend a week in San Francisco with her before returning to Lancer. Like Murdoch, Daniel had made quite extraordinary profits during the past few months and as a result had expanded his business from a simple mercantile into a more impressive emporium of general goods. He now also employed staff, who could be trusted to manage the business while he and Sarah were away. The two couples decided to take one of Estella's younger daughters with them as nursemaid to help look after the children.

"Magdalena can help me dress," enthused Maria. "And stay with the children while we attend the ball. If we take her with us, we will have so much more freedom to enjoy ourselves."

By September the opportunities for enjoyment were clearly increasing in San Francisco on a daily basis; the city was abuzz with activity. After disposing of his cattle and paying his men, Murdoch crossed Portsmouth Square to reach the Grand Hotel. He could see men busily erecting stands and seating and putting up lanterns in readiness for the following night's festivities.

Murdoch approached the hotel desk and asked if Mrs Lancer had checked in. Following the clerk's directions, he found Maria with Magdalena, busily unpacking. Magdalena stood on a chair, hanging up her mistress's gown from the top of the wardrobe to ensure the creases fell out before the ball. Johnny played on the floor with a hat box. Murdoch had booked two adjoining rooms as he had been too late to reserve a suite. He and Maria would be in one and Magdalena would stay with Johnny and little Catherine Johnson in the other. Sarah and Daniel were across the hall.

Grabbing Maria loosely from behind, he kissed her quick and then flopped down on the bed, bouncing a little to test out the springs. He snatched an extra pillow from the other side of the bed and stuffed it behind his head. Swinging his legs up off the floor, he stretched out enjoying the luxury of a soft mattress after two weeks sleeping on the ground. Maria tapped his boots as she passed. He moved them obediently off the bedspread, his feet now overhanging.

Johnny crawled to the brass bed-end and pulled himself upright. Edging his way round, the little boy used his father's feet and the side of the bed as support. When he was level with Murdoch's chest, he tried to scramble up. Murdoch dragged his son up on top of him and used his tummy muscles to jiggle the boy about a bit. When the squeals of laughter subsided, Johnny settled down to examine Murdoch's shirt buttons, and Murdoch sighed with contentment. "This is the life."

Maria smiled at the scene in front of her. Then she leaned over Murdoch and removed his gun from its holster. He made a grab for her but she skittered away. She put the Colt out of reach on the dresser. Grinning, Murdoch transferred his hat to his son's head and stuffed yet another pillow behind his own. "I've just seen Alfred. He has invited us all to stay with him and Charlotte, if this is not to your liking."

"That is kind, but I would prefer to meet Charlotte before becoming her house guest. I'm sure Sarah would feel the same. Maybe next time," Maria replied as she put her nightgown down at the head of the bed where her pillows used to be.

They dined with the Johnsons that evening and the next day Murdoch and Maria left Johnny with Magdalena and went to explore the town. Maria had never seen such a place before, and Murdoch was amazed at the progress since his last visit.

"Those buildings didn't even exist in May. It was just vacant land."

"Look there's a jeweller's. Shall we go inside?"

Murdoch bowed to the inevitable and opened the door for his wife. The shop sold more than just jewellery. There were clocks and watches as well, so while Maria monopolised the time of the shop girl, Murdoch examined the timepieces.

"A very nice clock that. Ebony case made locally by a cabinet maker recently arrived, highly skilled and contracted exclusively to this establishment, sir." Mr Greenspan, the shop owner, opened the front of the case to show Murdoch the workings inside.

"The movement is English-made I see. I like the subsidiary dials for seconds and dates. I presume it's an eight day movement?"

"Yes indeed, sir. Made by one of London's most skilled craftsmen. Clearly you know your clocks."

"I've had some experience. I've not seen a longcase as fine as this for some time. How much?"

Murdoch bought the grandfather clock. It would be delivered within the month. He also purchased sapphire and gold drop earrings with a matching pendant for his wife. Maria was ecstatic. "Thank you, mi amor. They will go with my gown perfectly."

The sapphire blue gown with black Spanish lace had been made especially for the event from Chinese silk ordered by Sarah from one of the many catalogues now regularly received by the emporium. She had ordered a flattering patterned peach-coloured silk for herself. The women had been frantically trying to finish their gowns right up to the day before they left for San Francisco.

Both ladies looked beautiful as they were accompanied through the cordon to the main reception area. Several gentlemen turned their way, but thought better of it when they spotted their escorts. Alfred Burke hailed them from where he stood with others on the south side of the square.

"Over here." Alfred raised his hat to be sure they could see him. "Now for the benefit of the ladies, I shall introduce everyone: Murdoch and Maria Lancer and Daniel and Sarah Johnson from the San Joaquin Valley; Will and Anne McIntyre and Harry and Clarissa Jackson, newly resident here in San Francisco; and of course my beautiful wife, Charlotte."

Leaving Maria and Sarah in the company of their friends, Murdoch and Daniel went to get drinks. Daniel was already on his way back with the wines when Murdoch, carrying the beers, was blocked by a group of prosperous-looking Americans.

"Well my dear, it looks like it will be an entertaining evening," declared a corpulent gentleman with mutton-chop whiskers and an eastern accent.

"I would be happier if we didn't have to mix with foreigners and riff raff." His wife surveyed the crowds before her with obvious disdain.

"Don't you worry, ma'am. Laws are already in the pipeline to ensure California stays American," a thinner man assured her. "The Mexicans will be encouraged to move back to Mexico and the Indians will be kept to the areas of no use. I admit the influx of Orientals is somewhat out of hand at the moment, but given time the government will resolve that issue too."

"And in the meantime my daughters and I must lower our standards and rub shoulders with women like that."

Murdoch's eyes followed the direction of her fan. Maria was introducing Don and Doña Caldera to the McIntyres. "If you will excuse me, ma'am, I would like to join my wife and our friends. Oh, and you needn't worry about 'rubbing shoulders' with those particular ladies. They are not known for lowering their standards."

Murdoch bowed as he passed and caught a glimpse of the woman's consternation when she grasped his meaning, but he was already out of ear shot before she or her companions could think of a response. He smiled with grim satisfaction and made light of the encounter when chatting casually with Alfred and Daniel later. He opted not to mention it to Maria. The orchestra, having warmed up their instruments with gentle background music, began to play tunes that invited its audience to dance. Maria, who loved to dance, could not be refused.

They were in the middle of their second waltz together when it happened. Murdoch's back gave out. One minute he was fine and the next he was doubled over grabbing at Maria for support. She helped him off the dance floor as Will McIntyre went in search of medical assistance.

"And what have we here," enquired Dr Hector Campbell as he broke through the wall of concerned friends and curious by-standers to reach the patient.

Murdoch gazed at a pair of hairy knees and a hem of green and blue tartan. "It's my back. It's happened before, but not since I was a lad. At the time the doctor said it was due to my growing too rapidly and the muscles not keeping up."

"Do I detect the burr of a fellow Scot—a Highlander no less?" Campbell pressed and prodded Murdoch's back. "Well now, I think … Yes, I think I agree with my learned colleague and I think I can put you to rights. Not here though. Best get you to my office."

Maria made a move to follow.

"No, Madam, stay. You will be of no use to your husband and an event such as this has too few ladies to spare one so bonnie. Stay and give your smiles to other men while I work my magic."

Murdoch was not quite sure he agreed with that sentiment, but he waved Maria away and told her to remain at the ball. He would return as soon as he could.

Dr Campbell came from Argyllshire. He had not long arrived and was thoroughly enjoying himself, shocking the natives by wearing his kilt. He made Murdoch lie down on his examination table and proceeded to entertain him with his full history as he applied hot and cold compresses to Murdoch's back. After about half an hour of this, he began to massage the affected area. Then he manipulated various limbs until quite unexpectedly Murdoch felt something click and his back was back to normal.

"I will provide you with some exercises to strengthen your muscles. Too much sitting on a horse I suspect, but a man of your height is always at risk of such problems."

The two men returned to the ball and parted company. Murdoch scanned the crowd and eventually saw Jackson's head sticking up above the rest.

"Where are the others?" he asked as he joined Jackson and Burke.

"Our wives are prettifying, yours is on the dance floor along with the McIntyres and Johnsons." Alfred pointed to where Maria was dancing with a tall man, well-dressed in Western-style. He was about the same age as Murdoch and was clearly enjoying his partner's company.

Jackson blew a smoke ring into the air and winked at Burke. "You should have seen the place once you'd gone, Lancer. Lining up to dance with her they were. I can tell you now I won't be leaving Clarissa alone. In fact if she and Charlotte don't come back soon, Burke, I think we should go looking for them."

The dance came to an end and Murdoch expected the man to escort Maria back, but they stayed where they were, talking, and when the orchestra struck up again, the fellow raised his arms in readiness to continue. Maria was all smiles as she put her hand into his and they joined the throng circling the dance floor once again.

"Now that's not on," Murdoch complained. "Who is he?"

"No idea," replied Burke. "But that will be the third dance. I'd cut in if I—"

Murdoch did not hear the last part of what Burke said, because he was already striding across the dance floor, dodging couples as they swirled around him.

Murdoch tapped the man on the shoulder. "You will excuse me, sir. I am recovered, and I would like to dance with my wife."

"Ah, you'll be Lancer, then." responded the stranger, revealing the remnants of an English accent as he stopped dancing and released Maria.

With pleased surprise, Maria hugged Murdoch and slipped her arm through his. "Murdoch, I'd like you to meet Thurstan Cole, recently arrived here from New Orleans, originally from London."

Murdoch and Cole shook hands.

"Thank you, Lancer. I am grateful for the opportunity to dance with the most beautiful creature here." Bowing to Maria, Cole kissed her hand, his eyes never leaving her face. Maria glowed. He tipped his hat to Murdoch and exited the dance floor.

The ball went on until after midnight. As the Lancers strolled back to the hotel with the Johnsons, Murdoch happened to glance into the open doors of a saloon. The Englishman was seated at a card table with a number of other men. Murdoch's eyes stayed on him as they walked past. The players looked as though they were settled in for an all-night session, and Cole looked as though he was in control of proceedings. A gambler—that would account for him being so smooth; such men often were. He did not know why the man bothered him so much, but he did not like him. Murdoch hoped their paths would not cross again.

**Notes:**

_1. The ball in San Francisco is make-believe; however, most of the other aspects of this chapter that sound like historical fact are actual events or attitudes of the time._

_2. Greenspan jewellers were mentioned in The Little Darling of the Sierras Series 2, Episode 12._

_3. Murdoch put his back out again in Devil's Blessing Series 1, Episode 26._


	30. From H to H Chap 30 Ups and Downs

**From Highlands to Homecoming** by Margaret P.

_(With thanks to betas Terri Derr and Anna Orr)_

**Chapter 30: Ups and Downs (**Words: 4,355)

"Johnny, you have a lot to learn about women," Murdoch chuckled as he helped his son up from the floor.

It was Johnny's first birthday. In celebration Murdoch and Maria were holding a small party for him. They had invited the Johnson and Ramirez families to share in the fun. Encouraged by her mother, Catarina Ramirez gave Johnny his present. Johnny accepted the gift without mishap, but then imitating his parents when they exchanged gifts he leaned forward and kissed the little girl full on the lips. The adults were not half as astonished as Catarina, who seemed to take exception to such familiarity. She shoved her playmate away. "No!"

Still rather unsteady on his feet, having only just learned to walk a few weeks before, Johnny descended hard on his fortunately well-padded rump. To his credit, he did not cry. He just stared up at the indignant Catarina with a look of puzzlement that made the adults laugh even more.

"Oh, Catarina! That wasn't very nice," her mother scolded in between giggles. "Say sorry."

Catarina was having none of it. As Johnny was helped up, she ran off with Murdoch's other goddaughter, Catherine. Not to be left out, Johnny wriggled free of Murdoch's grasp and an impromptu game of chase involving parents and children then ensued. It lasted until Estella came in with a bowl of soapy water and quills and started to blow bubbles. The toddlers squealed with delight as they tried to catch the rainbow makers.

Christmas was equally entertaining. The house was full of colour, religious icons and singing. Maria put poinsettia plants everywhere, and delicious smells wafted from the kitchen for days. The final posada on Christmas Eve ended at the hacienda. With Murdoch's help, Johnny took his turn trying to hit the piñata. He then scrambled with the rest of the children for the sweet treats, which sprayed forth when one of the older boys finally broke through. In wagonloads the families of the Estancia Lancer went together to the mission chapel to celebrate the Mass of the Rooster, and afterwards returned to the hacienda for a midnight feast. The house was filled with happiness and laughter until the early hours.

Johnny and the other small children were put to bed soon after returning from the mass, but not before Murdoch read them _A Visit from Saint Nicholas_. With Johnny and goddaughter Catarina snuggled into him on each side and older children seated at his feet, Murdoch read the poem aloud. Even the adults stopped their chatter to listen:

'_Twas the night before Christmas, when all thro' the house_

_Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;_

_The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,_

_In the hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;_

_The children were nestled all snug in their beds,_

_While visions of sugar plums danc'd in their heads,_

Despite his late night, Johnny was up at daybreak and Murdoch awoke to a small hand patting him on the cheek. "Pa!"

Yawning, Murdoch allowed himself to be led out to the great room where the stockings over the fireplace had miraculously filled overnight. He held Johnny up so he could 'help' untie his stocking and watched as the boy methodically extracted each small treat one at a time. Maria joined them, handing Murdoch a mug of steaming coffee before she nestled herself sleepily into a chair by the fire. When Johnny reached the orange in the toe of the stocking, he stood up and presented it to Maria to peel. He then proceeded to feed himself and his parents with segments as juice dribbled down his chin.

It was a wonderful season of goodwill filled with the laughter of his younger son, but the joy of the experience also caused Murdoch to think more of his elder boy. Murdoch now had a wife and a happy home. Money for another trip to Boston was no issue. His New Year's resolution was to bring Scott to Lancer.

"I've decided, Maria. I'm going to write to my father-in-law in Boston. It's time to bring Scott home."

"Do you really think so, mi marido? The boy is settled in Boston. California will seem very strange to him. Wouldn't it be kinder to leave him where he is?" Maria passed Murdoch more biscuits to soak up the gravy on his plate.

"He's my son. He belongs here with me, with us. He's young. I'm sure he'll adapt."

"But Johnny can be such a handful. Now he is walking he is into everything. I'm not sure I could cope with two." Maria took her husband's hand and traced her finger over his palm. With a hesitant glance at Murdoch, she murmured, "Scott might resent a step-mother. I can never be his real mother."

Clapping his hand over hers, Murdoch leaned forward and kissed her. "He'll adore you, mi amor. And you'll love him, I'm sure of it. You can have extra help —anything you want. Perhaps Magdalena would like a permanent job."

Murdoch poured them both another glass of wine. Maria returned her hands to her lap and fiddled with her chatelaine, eyes downcast.

"It'll be wonderful to have him here. Johnny will have a big brother to play with. They'll be just like me and Jock." Murdoch chuckled as he pictured trailing after his older brother while Jock finished his chores.

Being five years older, Jock always had more jobs to do. He used to pretend Murdoch was slowing him down, and he would growl at his little brother to go away, but once the pigs were fed and the cow milked, he would hide round the corner of the old stone barn and jump out at Murdoch. They would chase each other around the farmyard until their mother called out that she needed the milk for the porridge. "If your nae both washed and sitting at the table by the time your Da comes in, you can starve, you wee rascals."

Murdoch sipped his wine, and smiled, not really conscious of Maria at all. He reached for the cheeseboard. Cutting a thick slice of cheese, he picked some grapes from the bunch. "Jock must have had the patience of a saint. I used to follow him everywhere."

"Me." Johnny stretched out his hand. Murdoch gave him the plumpest grape he could see, and Johnny stuffed it into his mouth, beaming.

"I can't fetch Scott until the end of the year so he'll be five by the time he comes. That means he will be at school most of the day. He'll be very little trouble."

Maria gulped at her wine. "And how will this older half-brother affect Juanito? How will he affect our son and the position he holds on this ranch? Do you really believe the fine people of Green River and Morro Coyo will treat them the same?"

Murdoch was taken aback by her tone and even more so by her meaning, which he could not fail to understand. "What others think doesn't matter. You can't believe I would treat Johnny any differently. When Scott comes here they will be brothers on equal terms, equal in all respects, including my affection. Including your affection, I hope."

Maria would not meet his eyes. She did not argue with him any further, but it was clear she was still not convinced. Murdoch was unsettled by her attitude, but he told himself that she would come around once she was more used to the idea. The daily concerns of the ranch soon pushed her initial opposition to the back of his mind.

He had given serious thought to the level and quality of his stock after the last drive. Though it was tempting to meet every request for his cattle at the current inflated prices, he knew it was not sustainable. In 1849 he had succumbed to the temptation of high profits and sold far more animals than planned. As a result his herds were depleted. They also still had bloodstock issues. If he continued on the same path, he would ruin the ranch for the long term, and Murdoch was in for the long term. Consequently he made the decision to sell only the usual number of cattle this year. He would drive cattle to San Francisco in May as normal, and he would do a shorter pre-arranged drive to Sacramento in September. They would not attend a second ball in San Francisco, if it were held as suggested. Maria would be disappointed, but Murdoch wanted to build up his financial reserves. He needed cash to pay for his trip to Boston to get Scott and to invest in the development of the ranch.

His first investment was the purchase of breeding stock and a prize bull from his friend, Don Contanado. He and Paul travelled south early in January. They had no trouble finding vaqueros in Sonora willing to drive the animals north as many wanted to try their luck on the goldfields. Murdoch had arranged with Daniel Johnson to keep aside mining equipment, so that he could offer it as an incentive for the men to stay with the herd until they reached the ranch. The demand for equipment was so great that the promise of it was worth far more to a would-be miner than its actual inflated price. Even with only one hundred head and covering fifteen miles a day the drive would take over a month. Three extra wranglers were all that were needed for such a small herd, but Murdoch could not afford for them to get impatient and leave him part way. He would never know for sure that the option of being paid with pans, cradles, shovels and picks was a wise precaution, but the vaqueros did chose that option and they did stay the distance. There was only one minor incident along the way.

They were travelling inland between San Diego and Los Angeles. Water was scarce in those parts. Having diverted the cattle from a fouled water hole, Paul rode ahead in search of a good one. He thought he had found it and was on his way back to the herd when without warning something happened, and he feared he had made a mistake. Murdoch found him on the trail standing by his horse.

"Paul, what's the matter?"

"Thank God, it's you. I can't see. The water ahead must be bad. It smelled and tasted all right, but I can't see."

Murdoch hailed the vaqueros to control the herd. They would need to take the animals wide, so they did not smell the water. Thirst could drive them to stampede. They would graze them for an hour or so first however, and hope Paul recovered his vision.

"Are you sure it was the water, Señor?" Ignacio, the eldest of the three wranglers, stared at O'Brien doubtfully. "Best let me check. I know this area well and recognise the signs of poison, but I've never known it to cause blindness—death but not blindness."

"What else could it be? My canteen sprang a leak. By the time I noticed, the last of my water was gone. I tried a few cacti but none of them gave me anything drinkable. I just ended up all sticky. When I finally reached the water I was very thirsty and drank quite a lot."

"Did you wash the dust from your eyes?"

"Yes, I suppose I did."

Ignacio sighed and muttered "estúpido gringo" under his breath. "I will check the waterhole, Señor Lancer—and look out for broken cactus on my way. If I am right, we can let the cattle drink. And if I am right Señor O'Brien, you are ignorante but lucky. Your sight will come back."

The vaquero spurred his horse on. He returned an hour later and tossed a piece of cactus down in front of Paul, who was already regaining blurred vision. "Not all cacti can be used to quench your thirst, Señor, and some like euphorbia you should avoid for other reasons. As you have learned, its sap is sticky and if you get it in your eyes it will cause blindness—fortunately temporary blindness. "

The waterhole was good. If Paul had washed his hands before rinsing his eyes, he would have suffered no problems, but instead he had rubbed the damaging latex into them. By the time they reached the waterhole shortly before dusk, his sight was back to normal. That evening he and Murdoch examined the piece of cactus more closely, and then listened intently as Ignacio taught them the visible signs of a poisoned waterhole like animal bones and the absence of vegetation.

Upon his return to Lancer, Murdoch was alarmed to hear of an increase in rustling, but with the increased value of cattle—'gold on the hoof' as some called them—he was not surprised. That Lancer seemed to be more of a target than many other ranches he attributed to its proximity to the goldfields. No gold had been found on his land, and he was quick to run any would-be gold prospectors or squatters away from it, but he could not stop mining companies running regular transports of gold along the public roads that crossed Lancer.

Even when not involved with the actual prospecting, these companies would visit gold mining camps. By doing so, they saved miners any need to leave their claims and that enabled the companies to set the price with less competition. The mining companies routinely transported gold from the Sierra Nevada fields to Green River, Morro Coyo or the new town, Spanish Wells, where it was stored overnight before being taken further on. There had been several attempts to rob these transports. Even with deliberately erratic schedules some attempts had been successful, and that encouraged more. When there was no gold shipment to pursue, the bandits turned their attention to nearby cattle and Lancer cattle were a prime target both because they grazed near the public roads and because they were quality beasts. They would fetch a good price even from the unscrupulous buyers, who recognised the trade as dishonest but did not care. Murdoch took extra measures, including keeping his breeding stock well away from the roads and devoting more of his own time to policing his herds. Maria was constantly complaining that she and Johnny never saw him, but it could not be helped. What worried and angered him most was that the ringleader of the current bandit problem was said to be Jud Haney.

"Why are you so obsessed with this man that you have to spend so much time chasing him?" Maria raged. "Let your vaqueros pursue him for days on end if they must, but you should be home with us."

"You wouldn't understand, Maria."

"Oh, but I do. I am still living with a ghost!" She slammed the plate of food she was carrying down on the table in front of him and stormed from the room.

His happy home life was going through a temporary rough patch, or at least that was what Murdoch told himself. He had heard from others that Maria was facing growing bigotry in the local towns, in Green River in particular. She only ever mentioned it when it affected Johnny.

"I will not apologise for my actions, Murdoch. I will not! Do you know what that bruja called our son? A dirty half-breed!"

"So I understand, and of course I don't expect you to apologise, but you must keep your temper in future, Maria. You cannot make a habit of slapping our neighbours. You certainly shouldn't push them backwards into water troughs." Murdoch sighed and attempted a smile, but Maria was in no mood to be mollified.

In an effort to alleviate the situation, Murdoch accompanied Maria on her next visit to Green River. He had some business to attend to in town. After completing it, they walked along the boardwalk together to the new dressmaker's. A gentleman approached from the other side of the street.

"Mr and Mrs Lancer, good day to you."

Murdoch automatically shook hands before he recalled who the man was. The English accent and slick appearance soon reminded him however. Maria was annoyingly pleased to see him. "Mr Cole, what a pleasant surprise. What brings you to Green River?"

"I have business in the area, ma'am. Meeting you is an incentive to stay longer."

Maria simpered at the compliment. She played with her hair and her dress in a way that reminded Murdoch of Matamoros. Cole's admiration was unmistakeable. Irritated, Murdoch felt the need to break up the conversation. "You must excuse us, Cole. We have more purchases to make, and I need to get back to my ranch."

Thurstan Cole tipped his hat and allowed them to continue on their way, but Murdoch did not miss the fact that the man's eyes never left Maria, or the fact that hers glanced back before they turned into the shop.

"We should invite Mr Cole to dine, Murdoch."

"No, and I would prefer you kept your distance. There is something about the man—I do not like him."

"But why, mi marido? He's the perfect gentleman, and you would find him interesting to talk to. He has travelled widely. I thoroughly enjoyed our conversation in San Francisco."

"I said no, Maria. My mind is made up, and I expect you to respect my wishes." Murdoch did not know why he disliked Cole so much. It was not only the way he looked at Maria—or the way she looked back, though that certainly was part of it. Murdoch just had a gut feeling that the man was not to be trusted.

Maria gave Murdoch a penetrating look, but said no more. They returned to the ranch barely speaking, and Murdoch rode out to check on his vaqueros, who were herding steers down from the high country in preparation for the drive to Sacramento.

Not long after his return from Sacramento, Murdoch received a more welcome visit. The rustling, raids on gold transports and businesses, and a general increase in crime due to the growing population had naturally resulted in calls for law enforcement. Within weeks of California officially being granted statehood a branch of the United States Marshals service was established.

"Joe Barker's the name, deputy to the U.S. Marshal." The burly American dismounted and put his hand out to Murdoch. "I hear you can tell me about Haney."

Murdoch stiffened. "What about him?"

"Well, word has it Jud Haney is behind most of the trouble in these parts. My men and I have been sent to track him down. I'm hoping you can help me."

Murdoch invited Barker to dinner. He agreed to let the lawmen use his line shacks, and he also invited Barker to dine with him monthly to exchange information. Lancer men would support any action Barker took and by being forewarned of the location of Murdoch's herds, Barker hoped to find Haney's whereabouts more quickly.

As autumn progressed, the time of Murdoch's departure for Boston drew near and Maria again voiced some displeasure. "This trip to Boston will surely cost a great deal of money. You tell me we cannot go to San Francisco even for week, and yet you waste ten times as much on travelling to Boston."

"It's hardly a waste Maria. I'm going to collect my son."

"You have a son here, and you will miss his birthday if you go." Maria stood discontentedly in front of her husband's desk as he entered her latest expenses into a leather-bound ledger.

Murdoch removed the cash box from its drawer and counted out the housekeeping and Maria's pin money for the month. "Please let's not start this argument again. I'm sorry I'll miss Johnny's birthday, but there'll be others, made all the more special by having his brother here with us. Scott is no threat to Johnny. They'll be the best of friends. I'm sure of it."

"Even when our neighbours see Juanito and his mother as second class citizens, and his father does nothing to defend them?"

"Maria, that's unfair," Murdoch protested, putting down his pen and looking up at his wife with exasperation. "When have I ever failed to stand up for you?"

"Almost every time I go into Green River without you I am insulted. I do not see you holding these people to account."

"What would you have me do, Maria? I cannot shoot a man, let alone a woman, for snide comments. I've told you, if the problem is so bad in Green River, do your shopping in Morro Coyo. Even Spanish Wells runs to more than just saloons now. Or if it must be Green River, wait until I can go with you."

"I would be waiting a very long time, mi marido. Your ranch and your past seem more important to you these days than the wife and son you have here."

Again they went to bed angry. The next morning Murdoch started to talk about his plans for the day.

"Stop! Por favour—stop talking about things that do not concern me. I have a headache." Maria turned her back on Murdoch and began helping Johnny with his porridge and milk. Breakfast was eaten in resentful silence.

Murdoch brooded on their argument all morning. By noon he admitted to himself that he was partly to blame. Regardless, if peace was to return to his home, he knew he needed to make the first move to make things better. He returned to the hacienda for his midday meal.

"Maria. Johnny. Estella. Where is everyone?"

After some searching, Murdoch found Maria and Estella in the garden that bordered the kitchen courtyard.

"Oh Murdoch, thank goodness you're here. We've lost Johnny." Maria burst into tears.

Maria was not prone to weeping. Murdoch knew without being told that the boy must have been missing for some time, but Estella confirmed it. "We have been looking for him for half an hour, Señor. He is not in the hacienda."

Old Miguel hobbled up from the direction of the barn. "I have searched the yard and in the barn, Señora. He is not there."

"We've looked everywhere," cried Maria. "Someone must have taken him."

"That doesn't seem likely. He's probably just wandered off," Murdoch replied, trying to stay calm. "Where did you leave him?"

"We were doing laundry and he kept getting in the way," Maria hiccoughed. "I took him back to the kitchen to play with the pots and pans. I tied him to the table, so I could go back to the lines. I was only gone ten minutes."

Since Johnny had started walking, he had been constantly on the move. This was not the first time he had gone missing, but always in the past he had been found quickly. To keep him safe when the women were too busy to keep a close eye on him, Miguel had devised a leather harness that could be attached to the boy and to some stationary object. It had been this that Maria had used to constrain her son when she left him alone. Johnny must have found a way to wriggle out of it as the harness lay on the kitchen floor still attached securely to the leg of the table.

"If someone had taken him, they would have undone the harness, Maria," Murdoch said logically. Even so, Murdoch was as worried as his wife. A ranch was not a safe place for a toddler. There were animals and water troughs, and all manner of sharp objects. Together the four of them checked the rooms of the house again and then gathered by the archway leading out of the kitchen courtyard to the area behind the hacienda. "If the kitchen door was the only one open and Miguel is sure that he isn't in the yard or barn, he must have gone this way."

"Oh no!" Estella exclaimed staring into the distance. "That's all we need. The clotheslines have come down."

Washing day was hard work. Water had to be hauled from the well by the workers' cottages or from the pump near the hacienda. The clothes and linen for the whole estate were washed in great copper tubs over open fires, scrubbed clean against wooden wash boards, rinsed in wooden tubs of cold water and then hung out on long lines strung out between poles and trees, braced midway by sturdy wooden props. All the women of the ranch worked together to get the job done. It took them a whole morning to get everything washed and pegged out drying in the breeze. Hoping that the fallen lines had something to do with the lost boy, Murdoch and the others went to investigate what had happened.

A long line, which had been propped in the middle, was sagging to the ground under the weight of still-damp washing. Something had dislodged the prop and it was lying at an angle half across the line, further forcing the sheets, diapers, shirts and underwear into the dust. In the midst of the devastation something moved.

Murdoch pulled back a dirt-stained sheet. "Johnny!"

Everyone started to laugh. Sat in the dirt surrounded by wet laundry with his arms through the legs of his mother's split drawers and his head stuck up through the opening at the bottom was the lost boy. Johnny beamed up at his parents as if this was the most wonderful moment of his life.

Maria swept him up, scolding and kissing him all at the same time. She attempted to remove the undergarment, but he struggled to stop her. He liked his new outfit, and she eventually gave up until she could get him back to the house.

"You want to watch that niño, Señor," Miguel chortled as they returned to the hacienda. He checked over his shoulder to make sure the women could not hear him. "I was always good with the señoritas, but even I did not make it into their unmentionables that young!"

_**Notes:**_

'_A Visit from St Nicholas' was written by an American author, Clement Clarke Moore, in 1823._

_Don Contanado is mentioned in 'Devil's Blessing', Series 1, Episode 26, and in 'From Highlands to Homecoming', chapter 23._

_Murdoch told Teresa that her father suffered short-term blindness after drinking from a bad water-hole in 'Death Bait', Series 1, Episode 14. Unfortunately I could not find anything to support the idea of temporary blindness from bad water. I did eventually discover that cacti called euphoria could cause this complaint if its milky latex came in contact with the eyes. I have done my best to combine canon with reality._

_Jud Haney appears in 'Yesterday's Vendetta', Series 1, Episode 16 and 'From Highlands to Homecoming', chapters 19, 21 and 22._

_Joe Barker appears in 'The Lawman', Series 1, Episode 5._

'_Split drawers' was the early name for bloomers. The word 'bloomers' did not come in until the 1850s. The crucial aspect of this underwear was that each leg was finished separately and joined together at the waist band. The crotch seam was left open, but crafted so there was a bit of an overlap. Split drawers usually had a drawstring at the waist and tied or button at the centre back or front. _


	31. From H to H Chap 31 One Down

**From Highlands to Homecoming** by Margaret P.

_(With thanks to my betas Terri Derr and Anna Orr.)_

**Chapter 31: One Down** (Words: 4,299)

The tale of the boy and the lady's drawers was still causing hilarity in the bunkhouse when Murdoch departed for Boston. There was no need to check on shipping in advance. Hundreds of vessels now filled San Francisco's harbour and if they could muster sufficient crew to sail, they had plenty of berths for passengers wanting to leave. Getting passage for the return trip would be the challenge. Murdoch sailed with a clipper on the same day he arrived in San Francisco, and he reached Chagres in record time. There his fortunes changed and once again he had a long wait for a ship travelling north. When it finally came, the vessel only took him as far as New York, and he was obliged to board a steamship from there to Boston. He eventually disembarked in Boston two days before his son's birthday.

From the pier Murdoch went directly to his bank expecting to find an invitation to stay with his father-in-law and son. There were in fact two letters, one from Garrett and one from Beth Eliot. The message from his father-in-law was brief and to the point:

_Unfortunately we cannot accommodate you on this occasion, but please come to the house at 3 o'clock on December 19__th__._

The note from Beth urged him to make contact as soon as he arrived and fortunately solved the problem of where to stay:

_I expect you will be staying with Scott, but if that is not the case, please come to us._

It was early afternoon. Murdoch pondered what he should do as he drew some cash from his account. Garrett had been perfectly affable last time he came. It was disappointing not to be staying at Louisburg Square with Scott, but he was sure there was a perfectly reasonable explanation for why it was not convenient. Harlan was a businessman, who needed to garner favour by entertaining the right people. He probably already had house guests, whom he did not want to offend or to whom he did not want to display his less than grand son-in-law. Murdoch was resigned to the fact that Harlan would never hold him in high esteem almost on principle. He may have been more courteous last time than his sister, but Murdoch was under no illusions; he was not Harlan Garrett's choice of son-in-law and he would likely only ever be tolerated even now as the father of his grandson. With that thought another idea flickered across his mind, but he stamped it firmly out. There were no grounds for thinking his father-in-law would try to stop him taking Scott. All the same he would visit Louisburg Square before going to Beth and Robert. He could not force Harlan to put him up, but he could at least find out whether there was a problem.

"Hello, Jordan. Do you remember me—Scott's father? May I come in?"

"I remember you, Mr Lancer. Of course I do, but unfortunately there is no point to your coming in," the butler responded courteously. "Master Scott and Mr Garrett are in Worcester. They do not return until late tomorrow."

So that was it. Harlan had taken Scott to visit his great aunt in Worcester. Murdoch had been worrying unnecessarily. They would return in time for Scott's birthday on the 19th and all would be well. What a pity Harlan had not explained more fully. Feeling relieved and a little bit silly for having such wild thoughts, Murdoch swung his bag over his shoulder and headed for the Eliots' residence a few blocks away.

Beth greeted him warmly. The room was already made up in the hope they would have the pleasure of his company. His friend was all smiles, but there was something in her manner that was not wholly at ease. Murdoch could not quite put his finger on it. After he had freshened up, he joined Beth in the sitting room where he admired the latest addition to the family. James Andrew was a gurgling six month old tot, who happily played on his rug on the floor as his mother chatted to Murdoch.

"Another one who looks like you, Beth. Robert will be getting jealous."

"They may all have my colouring, but I see plenty of Robert in each one of them," Beth responded cheerfully. "Jamie has his placid nature, which is a blessing when there are the two older ones to contend with, I can assure you."

At that moment, the cry of "Papa" and a stampede of elephants descending the stairs could be heard from the hall. Dr Robert Eliot entered carrying three-year old Katie. Her big brother, Bobby, hastened backwards before them holding up a large sheet of paper for his father to see.

"It's the _Constitution_, Papa. See I've drawn Captain Conover on the quarterdeck."

"Yes, I see," responded Robert, bending down to take better look at the drawing. "You've captured him perfectly, son, but we're being rude. We have a guest. Good to see you, Murdoch."

Putting his daughter down, Robert shook Murdoch's hand.

"May I see your drawing, Bobby?" Murdoch asked. Bobby looked uncertainly between Murdoch and his father. Clearly the boy did not remember him from his last visit.

"Go ahead, Bob. Show your Uncle Murdoch your picture." Robert gently nudged his son forward. "Bobby accompanied his Grandfather Eliot to see over the _USS Constitution_ while it was in harbour last week. It's been nothing but ships and the navy ever since."

Murdoch was looking forward to spending the next few hours in the comfortable chaos that distinguished the Eliot household from that of the Garrett mansion, becoming reacquainted with his goddaughter and her brothers and enjoying a family meal, but Beth and Robert seemed to have other ideas. Beth called the nanny to take the children away to the nursery and feed them there. She and Robert would come up later to say good night.

The adults retired for pre-dinner drinks to the drawing room. A blazing fire in the grate crackled and danced adding more light to a room already well lit by gas lamps. Murdoch stood by the hearth enjoying the warmth of the fire and the sound of rain pattering against the window panes.

"You have come to take Scott back to Lancer?" Beth opened the conversation with an unusual hesitancy in her voice.

"Yes. It's time. Johnny is over the most difficult stage now, so Maria should have no problem looking after two. Financially it's never been better and there's some law and order now as well. It's completely different from when Scott was born." Murdoch swirled his brandy in its glass, savouring the smell of a fine Cognac, before sipping it with appreciation. One day he would treat himself to this quality at Lancer. "I was a little concerned when I wasn't invited to stay at Louisburg Square, but it appears Garrett is visiting his sister and my fears were unwarranted."

Beth and Robert said nothing; a look of indecision past between them. Murdoch raised his eyebrows. "You don't think so?"

Beth placed her glass on the side table and looked at her hands. "I didn't mention it in my letters. There was nothing you could have done, so it seemed best to say nothing."

"It was my idea not to say anything," Robert said, taking his wife's hand. "We discovered soon after your last visit that Mr Garrett had instructed his staff not to talk to Scott about you. Supposedly it was for his own good—so he would miss you less."

"As you may have realised from my letters, we don't see as much of Scott as we expected," Beth continued quietly. "We invite him to play with Bobby, but there is always some reason he can't come. We see him on special occasions when others are present, but never when there is just us. We've not actually had a chance to talk to him about you."

Beth stood up and walked to the fireplace. Turning to face Murdoch, she spoke with anxiety clear in her voice. "This summer, sometime after we received your letter telling us your intentions, a man ran a riding school on the Common for small children. We took Bobby. Mr Garrett was there with Scott and I happened to comment that Scott would soon ride as well as his father. Mr Garrett did not appreciate my remark. He took me aside and warned me not to mention you again in front of Scott. Eliot or no Eliot, he said, if I did he would ensure we would not have contact with Scott again."

"Since then my father has had words with me on the subject," added Robert, leaning forward and shaking his head.

"Your father—the senator?" Worried as he was by what he had just heard, Murdoch did not see how any of it could concern Senator Eliot.

Robert took a deep breath and looked up. "My father has ordered me and Beth to stay out of any custody battles between you and Harlan Garrett. He demands that we are seen to be neutral on the subject—should it arise."

"But what makes him think that such a battle is about to take place and why should it concern him if it does?" Murdoch asked with increasing confusion.

"He would not tell me how he knew that custody was about to become an issue, but my father is a politician campaigning for re-election. It does not take much to put two and two together. We have not spoken since. I was too angry. That said Beth and I have not attempted any kind of communication with Scott or Garrett on your behalf either. It seemed premature." Robert rose and went to the window, fixing his gaze on the street lamp opposite the house as he swallowed a mouthful of brandy. He turned and looked Murdoch straight in the eye. "Despite my father's orders, we will support you if the need arises."

"If the need arises," Murdoch repeated. He placed his glass on the mantelpiece. Suddenly his brandy tasted sour. "At this point, we cannot be sure there will be a need. My father-in-law has invited me to the house for Scott's birthday."

"At 3 o'clock but the party starts at 2 o'clock." Beth's discomfort was clear; she twisted her handkerchief in her fingers and could barely look at Murdoch. "It's for children only. Our nanny will take Bobby and collect him. I dare not risk unpleasantness by doing anything unusual like going myself."

Murdoch retired early. There was a lot to think about and none of it was good. The idea that Harlan would try to prevent him taking Scott back to Lancer had occasionally entered his mind, but he had always rebuked himself with the memory of when Scott was born. Murdoch had thought the worst of Garrett then and had been proved wrong. He was determined not to see conspiracy where there was none. He had pushed such ideas firmly away. He was having more difficulty doing so now however, and he spent an unsettled night.

The next day he visited Jim Harper at New England Enterprises and arranged to have lunch at the Oyster House.

"How is married life treating you?" Murdoch asked Jim as he tucked into some fresh caught cod. Jim had been married in the spring to the niece of his employer, Edward Kirby. They had met for the first time the year before, when Mr Kirby's widowed sister and her daughter had come to live with him. Jim declared it was love, but Murdoch suspected that it did not hurt that Caroline Manning was heir to her uncle's fortune.

Murdoch and Jim exchanged pleasantries about each other's family lives and business, but Murdoch felt something of their old camaraderie was lost. He asked Jim whether he had heard anything about Garrett recently, particularly with reference to his grandson, but Jim declared not. As Murdoch walked off to his next appointment, however, he had the nagging feeling that his old friend knew more than he admitted.

Three o'clock, Thursday afternoon came around eventually and Murdoch returned to Louisburg Square. Jordan escorted him across the reception hall to the library. Sounds of a party well-underway emanated from the rooms further along the hall.

"Murdoch, you're looking well," Harlan Garrett greeted. "Can I offer you a drink?"

Murdoch declined politely. A whiskey may have settled his churning stomach, but he wanted to stay clear headed. Garrett had not changed; a little thinner on top but still the same sophisticated, sly businessman who had shown him the door all those years ago. He exuded wealth from the top of his well-oiled head to his black highly-polished leather shoes. Murdoch had never bothered too much about clothing, but with his string tie and checked shirt he felt rustic in comparison. He suddenly wished he had invested in a suit for the occasion—how absurd.

Garrett eyed Murdoch thoughtfully, and then drew back the doors dividing the library from the adjoining rooms. Scott's birthday party was in full-swing. There were clowns and balloons, servants and children—all dressed in their best attire and apparently enjoying themselves. Carnival music played in the background. Murdoch spied Scott examining a clown's magic bag—something had just disappeared.

"As you can see Murdoch, Scotty is happy and well adjusted. I've tried to give him everything a little boy should have, every advantage. He has a private tutor, a nurse—the best of everything."

Murdoch turned away from the party to face Garrett. "Have you told Scott about me?"

"Well, that would be a bit premature, wouldn't it? The boy is only five years old."

"He's old enough to know his own father."

"But I'm his father, Murdoch. At least he accepts me as such." Murdoch flinched at the words as Catherine's father continued. "But that's beside the point. I assume you've brought lawyers with you?"

The look on Garrett's face asked the question that Murdoch instantly realised was uppermost in the businessman's mind. Had his son-in-law foreseen resistance? Had he come prepared as any astute Boston businessman would have done, or was he as Garrett hoped just a naïve cowboy?

Murdoch felt ill. "I've come prepared to take Scott if that's what you mean?"

"Are you prepared, as prepared as I am? Have your lawyers told you how many years it would take to fight my legal guardianship? With Scotty endlessly dragged into court as a key witness." Garrett nodded towards the adjoining room.

As the older man continued to talk, Murdoch watched the clown's monkey climb over the boy's shoulder. Scott started to play with balloons. He was enjoying himself. He was at home in his surroundings. Did Murdoch have the right to disrupt his life by taking him away from what was familiar to him? Was Maria right? Was Garrett? Much as he hated his father-in-law at this moment, much as he felt betrayed and angered by what the man was now trying to do, was he right? Was Scott better off here in Boston? Better off without his father? No, Murdoch could not believe that.

"Take a good look at your son, Murdoch. This is the happiest time of his life, his childhood. He's with his friends, secure in his home. The only home he's ever known. Now what can you give him to replace all this? Years of court battles and if you're lucky, a desolate strip of sand and rock to play on instead of grass—a mud hut to live in, instead of a comfortable home." Garrett closed the sliding door between the two rooms. "Is that what you want for your son? Make up your mind, Murdoch. Do you want Scotty torn apart?"

Before Murdoch could put his thoughts into words, there was a knock at the sliding doors. Garrett opened them. Scott stood there with his nurse—not Nanny Richards. Was she disposed of along with any other reminders of Murdoch's last visit? How far had Garrett gone in erasing Murdoch from Scott's memory?

"Oh, Scotty what is it?" Garrett asked, looking down at his grandson.

"We're ready to cut the cake, Grandfather."

"Good. I'll be right out."

The boy and his nurse turned away.

His son had been standing right in front of him. Scott had seen Murdoch. It was clear he did not recognise him. Murdoch did not know what he should do. Before he could decide and as if to emphasize the fact that Scott did not know him, Garrett called his grandson back and went to stand by his side. "Oh, Scotty, I want you to meet a friend of mine. His name's Murdoch."

"How do you do, sir?"

A soft, warm sensation filled Murdoch's chest as his eyes drank in the small boy in front of him. A momentary smile came spontaneously to his lips, and Murdoch leaned forward to shake his son's outstretched hand. "Hello, Scott—Glad to meet you."

The nurse led the child away and his grandfather again closed the doors between the two rooms. "You may call that decision my one moment of weakness. Now it's your decision. If you truly love the boy, I know what you'll do."

"I'm not just going to let you take my son." Murdoch's voice trembled; he was trying hard to hide his growing desperation, but even to his own ears he did not fully succeed.

"I was not just going to let you take my daughter, but you did it anyway. You won that battle, Lancer, and look what happened." Garrett's tone was suddenly cold—bitter. He opened the door to the hall. "I think it is time you left."

Murdoch did not move, but the butler came to the door.

"Jordan, please show Mr Lancer out. He is not to be re-admitted under any circumstances."

"You can't steal my son."

"I think you will find that under the laws of Massachusetts, you would be the one seen as a potential kidnapper. In this state I am Scott's legal guardian. My lawyers will be in touch. Make no mistake, Murdoch, I am better prepared this time. If a war is to be waged, I will win it—but at what cost to Scott? You decide."

Murdoch left. A hundred yards down the street, he started to run. Passers-by stared at him in astonishment, but he did not stop until he reached Frog Pond in Boston Common. Leaning forward gripping the wild cherry tree he panted out his frustration. "Bastard! Catherine, your father is a bastard! Mierda! Maldita sea!

Murdoch slumped to the ground, and with his back to the tree looked up beseechingly to the sky. "Help me—please!"

It was well after dark by the time he returned to the Eliots'. Beth and Robert had already eaten, but Beth brought him something from the kitchen.

"I don't want it, Beth. Sorry." Murdoch looked hopelessly at his friend. "What am I to do?"

"Talk to my father. Maybe he can help. At least he will be able to tell you where you stand."

Murdoch already had an appointment with James McIntyre for the following afternoon. He had not known exactly what Garrett would say, but there was enough evidence to suggest he would need McIntyre's services.

"I received papers from your father-in-law's attorney this morning. It doesn't look good." James McIntyre indicated that Murdoch should take a seat. "If you wish, I will ask a colleague, who specialises in custody law, to look into the matter. He may be able to suggest something, but from what I can see …."

"It doesn't look good. I understand, but I would like to know for sure what my options are." Murdoch felt defeated, but still he refused to give up all hope. If he had to spend every penny of the money left in his Boston account and more, he would do it if there was any hope at all of getting custody of Scott without dragging the boy through the courts.

"Put simply there is not," Adam Reece informed him on Christmas Eve. "Harlan Garrett has employed some of the best lawyers in this state. He has the ear of most of the judges and holds the purse strings for many of the politicians. In Massachusetts he's Scott's legal guardian, and while the boy remains in this state you have no chance of fighting him. If Garrett was ever foolish enough to take Scott elsewhere while he was still a child, then maybe, but your son would have to remain out of state. Regardless, Garrett's legal team have made it very clear they would put the boy on the stand if this matter is ever brought to court anywhere. Litigation could take years and you would be required to be present in court on most occasions. The likelihood is that you would still lose."

"But it was only ever to be a temporary arrangement. I have a wife now. I can offer Scott a safe and secure home. I am his father. Surely all that counts for something?"

Reece pushed back in his chair and walked to the window, hands in his pockets. He sat down on the broad sill facing Murdoch and McIntyre. "I do not say it is right, but you cannot win. The documents received show very clearly that your father-in-law's lawyers have been planning this for years. They have taken all possible steps to ensure custody remains with Garrett and they have investigated your circumstances thoroughly. In addition to making the child testify to confirm his current home is to his liking and that you are unknown to him, they would argue that five years is more than temporary. They would contend a home in a newly formed state with little law and filled with gold miners and foreigners cannot compare with what Boston can offer. Make no mistake, they will portray you as a man devoid of any right sense of morality, who changes religion for convenience, whose second child was conceived out of wedlock and whose wife is a Mexican Catholic. To our white Protestant judiciary that alone could lose you the case."

"I'm sorry, Lancer, but you need to face facts," McIntyre said more kindly. "You do not want to mar the boy's childhood by dragging him through the courts. Best accept the inevitable now, and let us work to ensure you are at least kept informed of Scott's well-being. We can try to get the court to support free communication between you and your son, though we think Garrett will fight it. We are, however, reasonably confident that a judge would rule in your favour and insist that you receive regular reports about his welfare. To attempt anything more would be throwing your money away."

"I don't care about the money, and if I'm seen by this state as a potential kidnapper, perhaps that is what I should become."

"And terrorise your son? No, that's frustration talking. I know you too well. You will not do that." James McIntyre stood up. "Come on, Lancer. Thank you for your advice, Reece. I will be in touch once my client has had time to consider."

What was there to consider? James McIntyre wisely told Murdoch to think about the situation over the holidays and give his final instruction in the New Year, but there were no viable options that would allow him to bring Scott home. Christmas day was spent mostly wandering the streets of Boston. The Eliot house was too full of laughter and seasonal cheer. Murdoch had to escape. Robert found him hunched against the wild cherry tree late in the afternoon. "I proposed to Beth under this tree. I can't let you spoil all the happy memories by freezing to death under it. Come back to the house, man. The children will be in bed soon and we can talk—or not—whatever you want."

"Could you give up your son, Robert? Could you leave Bobby or Jamie in a city thousands of miles from where you live and get on with your life?" Murdoch buried his face in his hands. "He doesn't know me now. What kind of relationship can I ever hope to have with him? How could I possibly explain later—always assuming he would want anything to do with me? I've been such a fool—a gullible fool. I should never have let Garrett take him. I knew the kind of man he was. I knew…"

Robert sighed and sat down on the damp ground next to Murdoch. "Budge up and give me some trunk to lean against." He drew a silver tobacco case and some papers out of his jacket pocket and offered them to Murdoch. Together they rolled their cigarettes, taking inexplicable solace from the action. Robert cupped his hand to protect the vesta flame from the cool breeze rippling across the Common; the thin paper caught alight and the dried fibre glowed. The two fathers sat watching the weak winter sun sink on the horizon. Robert hugged his jacket round him to keep warm, but Murdoch seemed oblivious to the cold. He talked and Robert listened; and when he was all talked out they sat in silence until the harsher chill of dusk drove them homeward.

In the New Year Murdoch authorised his lawyers to pursue the limited forms of contact outlined at their pre-Christmas meeting, but to desist if it looked like Scott would be forced into court. If anything good was to come of all this it had to be the well-being of his son. Left with no alternative, Murdoch packed up his grief with his bag, and began the long journey back to Lancer.

**Notes:**

See _Legacy_, Series 2, Episode 10 for the scene at the Garrett mansion.


	32. From H to H Chap 32 Two to Go

**From Highlands to Homecoming** By Margaret P.

_(With thanks to my betas, Terri Derr and Anna Orr, for their invaluable help and advice.)_

**Chapter 32: Two to Go** (Words: 3,244)

"Maria! Estella!" Murdoch returned to an empty house. Where was everyone? It was mid-afternoon and the hacienda was silent. He strode outside again to where he had tied his horse to the hitching post and spotted a young woman crossing the yard. He did not recognise her.

"Ma'am, I'm looking for Señora Lancer or Estella, do you know where they are?"

"Señora Lancer will be out riding. She goes most afternoons. Estella will have taken Johnny to her daughter's to play with little Catarina. Are you Mr Lancer?" A light breeze flicked strands of fair hair across the girl's face. She pushed them back as she squinted up at Murdoch, shading her eyes from the sun with her hand.

"I am. I'm sorry, but I don't think we've met?"

"My name's Angel. Angel O'Brien. Paul and I were married last month. I live here now."

"Well, I'll be. That's wonderful. I wish you every happiness together." Murdoch grinned down at the slip of a girl. Where had Paul met her, he wondered? He had not seen her around here. "I suppose Paul is out working somewhere? I'll catch up with him later. Welcome to Lancer."

Murdoch walked with Angel to the worker's accommodation built around a small square a short distance from the main yard. She veered off into one of the adobe cottages, but he continued on up the track to the farmhouse where Cipriano and Maria Ramirez now lived. Sure enough Johnny and Catarina were making mud pies and farmyards by the water trough as Estella helped her daughter drag mats and mattresses out onto the porch. Evidently today was spring-cleaning day and every item was getting a thorough beating. Johnny looked up from constructing his corral wall. He stared at Murdoch. Getting to his feet, he twisted sideways, head almost upside down, scrunching up his eyes as Murdoch drew nearer. Then he straightened and stared some more. Just as a knot of disappointment was beginning to form in his chest, Murdoch saw the spark of recognition in his son's eyes.

"Papa!" The sturdy two-year old hurtled towards Murdoch and flung himself into his father's waiting arms. Muddy hand prints were added to the dust on Murdoch's shirt. This was the reception he needed. "Papa, come look."

Catarina toddled over for a hug too and to show off her latest creation, carefully presented on a tree-bark platter with sticks and flowers as decoration. Murdoch spent the next few minutes admiring walls and houses, birthday cakes and apple pies. By the time the children released him, the women had tidied away the mattress they had been airing and had brought out some refreshments.

"You're starting spring cleaning a bit early aren't you, Maria," Murdoch remarked, accepting a glass of ginger beer.

"Thought I would get it out of the way before I got too big," Maria replied patting her rounded abdomen. "Mama is helping me while Señora Lancer is out riding."

"Yes, so Mrs O'Brien told me. A few things have changed while I was away."

Murdoch took Johnny back to the hacienda with him. Estella followed later and started on the evening meal. Murdoch was supervising Johnny washing his hands for dinner when his wife finally returned from her ride.

"Murdoch! We weren't expecting you back so soon." Maria hugged and kissed him in greeting. "Is Scott here? I have not quite finished organising his … What's wrong?"

The temporary happiness from spending time with Johnny faded as the underlying grief for Scott came to the fore. Leaving Johnny with Maria, Murdoch went through to the great room and sat down on the sofa. He picked up a catalogue from the coffee table and then threw it down again with force. He was gazing at the floor when Maria sat down beside him. "His grandfather wouldn't part with him. He has tied the boy up with so many legal chains that I have no hope of bringing him to California."

"Oh, I am sorry, Murdoch. But maybe it's for the best."

"It's not for the best! How can it be for the best? You never wanted him to come in the first place." Murdoch glared at his wife and then turned away ashamed of his outburst. When he looked back, she was staring at him unblinking.

Murdoch put his hand on hers. "I …"

Drawing her hand away, Maria rose and went to the table. She poured them both glasses of wine, and drank deeply before giving Murdoch his without saying a word. Where was the fire? Murdoch wished she would scream and curse him; he deserved it—he knew that. Instead her face was blank, her eyes, normally so expressive, so beautiful, were unfathomable.

"I'm sorry." Murdoch looked up at his wife, eyes pleading with her to understand; and yet still he felt resentful, unable to shake the idea that Maria was really glad that he had not been able to bring Scott back to Lancer.

"You will feel better when you have eaten, mi marido."

Maria refilled her glass when they sat down to their meal, but Murdoch's was still untouched. He tried to rally, to make his first meal back at Lancer a happy occasion, but somehow he did not have the heart for it. Apart from Johnny's chatter, they ate in silence.

Murdoch met with his foremen the following day. As well as catching up on what had been happening at the ranch, he learned the story of Paul O'Brien's unexpected marriage.

"I went to a theatre in Sacramento after I lodged those survey reports for you," Paul explained. "Angel was performing, singing and dancing. She was the prettiest thing I ever saw. Now I know how you fell so quick for Mrs Lancer. It's like being hit with a sledge hammer. Anyways I waited outside the stage door, and she let me walk her home. I knew José had everything under control here so I stayed on a couple of weeks. Well, to cut a long story short I asked her to marry me, she said yes and we came back to Lancer together. I couldn't be happier."

"I'm glad for you, Paul."

There was more good news when three weeks later Murdoch was out on the south pasture and Joe Barker rode up with some of his men.

"Heard you were back, Lancer." Barker lifted his hat and wiped the sweat from his brow. "Thought I'd let you know we're not far off catching Haney. He's hiding somewhere up in those hills. I've got men stationed all along the foothills, so we'll spot him if he tries to run for it. If we can't catch the wily bastard out in the open, we'll starve him out."

"Well, I've certainly noticed the drop in raids on my cattle. You men have done a good job, thank you." Murdoch nodded towards Barker's companions.

That evening Murdoch mentioned Barker's visit to Maria. "Makes a difference having lawmen about. I wouldn't let you ride about as you do if it was the way it was a few years ago. Where do you go anyway—I never see you?"

"Oh, as the mood takes me, but usually towards one of the towns. Never too far out of the way," Maria responded casually as she sipped her wine. "Do not worry, mi marido. I enjoy the exercise and the time on my own, but I am sensible."

"I hear that man, Cole, is still about. Do you see much of him?"

"As you instructed, I have not invited him to this house. I cannot avoid him entirely without being rude. He is one of the few men in Green River, who is polite to me after all. The rest either ogle me or despise me, though it is the women I really cannot stand." She refilled her wine glass and glared accusingly at Murdoch, daring him to make something of her comments. He changed the subject.

Early May Murdoch drove cattle to San Francisco. José and eight men came with him. They stayed together until the cattle were sold, and then went their separate ways. Murdoch spent the next few days with the Burkes. He wanted to discuss the implications of the Land Act with Alfred and lawyer, William McIntyre. Murdoch needed to renew his claim to his land under American law now that the rules had been defined, and he wanted to make sure what he submitted would satisfy the authorities in every respect.

"I'm having increasing problems with squatters. The quicker I can get a patent for the land under US law the better."

"You're right to get your claim in early," Alfred replied, filling his pipe and offering Murdoch his tobacco pouch so he could do the same. "I'd suggest you submit one claim for the land you have good documentation for and others for the areas where title is less certain. That way the bulk will not be delayed by the rest."

Will opened the window to his office to release some of the smoke. He was not a smoker. The other two grinned at him, but did not offer to desist. "I'll get copies made of these documents and arrange them in the order required by the Land Commission. I'll have the submissions themselves drafted by tomorrow and if you can remain here until the end of the week, you can take everything with you. Why don't you lodge the claim in San José in person before returning to Lancer?"

"Do you remember Cleve Harper—I introduced you at the ball?" Alfred asked. "His ranch is just outside San José. He'll put you up and show you where to go. Since the Governor took up residence there the town has changed a lot."

The trip south meant Murdoch was away a little longer than he originally intended, but it made sense to get his claim lodged with the Land Commission early and in person. Cleve Harper was like him, a man who had bought land under Mexican governance, and Murdoch was glad of the opportunity to get to know him better. Harper had arrived in the late 1830s. He had married his housekeeper and had a large family. His land was mainly grant land, but he was not as far forward as Murdoch with his surveying.

"Got lazy after the first couple of years, so now I've got my work cut out getting all the paperwork in order."

"You've a good herd," Murdoch observed. "Perhaps we can exchange some bloodstock down the track?"

Murdoch was in a good mood when he returned to Lancer. His business had gone well. The Land Commissioner, who accepted his submission, was complimentary about his promptness and the apparent thoroughness of his documentation, and he and Harper got on well. The two cattlemen had decided to keep in touch. His mind was still on business when he arrived home, so Maria's lukewarm welcome did not register with him too greatly. Johnny was overjoyed to see him as usual. After he read the boy a bedtime story, he retired to his desk and his bookwork. Maria retired early, but the grandfather clock had chimed eleven when Murdoch finally crawled into bed. He fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

In the morning Maria and Johnny were gone.

At first Murdoch did not realise. He was surprised to see the empty space beside him in bed, but what immediately sprung to mind was the last time Maria had risen so early. He went looking for her with a warm seed of hope nestled somewhere deep inside. The seed turned to stone when he entered Johnny's room and found the boy gone too.

"Maria! Johnny! Where are you?" Murdoch ran between the two rooms and out into the great room and kitchen. There was no sign of them anywhere. Returning to his bedroom he opened the wardrobe. Most of Maria's dresses were gone. Her drawers too were half empty. Her jewellery box was no longer on the dressing table. A single sock remained in Johnny's drawers, and when he looked properly he noticed a number of his son's toys were missing—his favourites.

Panicking now Murdoch headed through the hall towards the front door. Suddenly he had a thought and diverted towards his desk. If Maria had left him, she would need money. He withdrew the cashbox from the middle drawer. It was unlocked and empty except for the key.

Murdoch stood gripping the end of the desk, staring at the bottom of the box. It was then he saw it, the key in the lock of the strong box behind his desk. Why? The cashbox had all the money for wages and general running expenses. He only kept important documents in the strongbox, that and… No, that was not possible. Whatever was wrong between him and Maria, she would never take what was left of Catherine's jewellery.

Maria knew he had saved some more valuable pieces to give to Scott on his wedding day. The brooch and ring were heirlooms, the necklace and earrings, a present from Harlan Garrett to his daughter on her twenty-first birthday. Murdoch had given the rest of his first wife's jewellery away, the costume jewellery to Catherine's friends and one each of the lesser value pieces to her namesakes, his goddaughters. Maria never showed any interest, but she knew the jewellery was in the strongbox. She knew where Murdoch hid the key. With trembling fingers and a sinking heart he raised the lid. He could hardly bear to look. The documents appeared undisturbed—a moment of relief, but when he lifted the false bottom to the chest, the jewellery was gone. Maria had left him; she had taken his son and what valuables she could lay her hands on to pay her way. The money he understood, but the jewellery intended as keepsakes for his other son. Much as he knew Maria resented Catherine, Murdoch would never have believed it of her.

Before desperation could turn to despair and cripple him, Murdoch forced himself up and out of the hacienda. He met Paul in the yard. "Maria and Johnny have disappeared. Have you seen them?"

"No, but the buggy and the horse Mrs Lancer usually rides are missing."

"Saddle up. She's taken her things, but she can't have gone far. On her own she'll have to stick to the main roads."

"If she's on her own." Paul looked embarrassed.

"What do you mean by that?"

"Well, I didn't like to say, Boss." Paul adjusted his hat and avoided Murdoch's glare. "There's been gossip about Mrs Lancer and that gambling man, Cole. Might be nothing. Green River folks have always been a bit against your missus as you know."

"Cole!" Murdoch stormed across the yard to the stables, fist clenched. He wrenched his saddle off the stall rail and threw it roughly onto the back of his startled horse.

"I don't want to make things worse… It might not have been them… Isidro admits he was a long way off…Sod it!"

Though his blood boiled, Murdoch paused from saddling his horse and waited for Paul to say what he had to say. His foreman kicked at the end of the stall, his voice low, resigned to inflicting further pain. "Isidro reckoned he seen the two of them coming away from the old Tucker place last week."

Murdoch mounted the gelding, jerking the animal's head round. "You go to Morro Coyo. I'll ride to Green River. One of us will catch up with them."

Daniel Johnson was opening his shop when Murdoch galloped up. "Have you seen Maria?"

"No, Murdoch. What's wrong?"

"What about Cole—have you seen the gambler?"

The look on Daniel's face told him all he needed to know about what Paul had said. There was no time for embarrassment or recriminations or anger if they would delay his search however. Between them they visited all the saloons, hotels and eating places but no one had seen Thurstan Cole or Maria. The stable boy at the livery told them Mr Cole had come for his horse late the night before. He had ridden south towards Lancer and Morro Coyo. He had not returned.

Murdoch rode south. He met Paul three miles from Morro Coyo. "They were seen on one of the back roads to San Francisco. A trapper just arrived in town says he was forced off the road by a buggy travelling at speed. Driven by a woman with a boy strapped to the seat beside her. A well-dressed man on horseback riding along side. It has to be them."

Murdoch sent Paul back to the ranch. He pursued the runaways to the outskirts of San Francisco. There he lost them. Eventually he found a livery where an Englishman had sold horses and a buggy. Eventually he learned from a stevedore, transferring barrels of salt on the docks, that a couple with a child had boarded a clipper the night before.

"Sailed on the evenin' tide, sir. Seen 'im before—gambler. Tasty wench with 'im—Spanish lady. Rowed out late, just before the ship weighed anchor." The man took hold of one of the barrels stacked on the pier and lifted it onto his shoulder. Murdoch walked along side as he lumbered to a dray waiting nearby. "The woman was carrying a boy. Fast asleep he were. Looked plumb tuckered out. Never saw that gambler as a family man, but you never know. Mind out, sir." The stevedore heaved the barrel onto the dray. "_Mercury_ was bound for San Diego—or maybe it was Los Angeles. Can't remember now."

Murdoch made inquiries elsewhere but all he discovered was that the clipper was scheduled to put in at San Diego before continuing to Panama and back again. It made no difference. They had too much of a head start. He would never catch them now. He sought refuge at a saloon near the dockyard. He ordered whiskey. The first glass broke—Murdoch gripped it too hard. He ordered another.

The barman sent a boy to fetch Alfred Burke in the morning after finding the land agent's card in Murdoch's wallet. Several cups of strong coffee later and Alfred learned the full story, or at least as much of it as Murdoch knew himself.

"Go home, Murdoch and wait for news. I will dispatch messages to all my contacts along the coast between San Diego and Santa Barbara. If they stay in that area we will hear about it. Write letters to your contacts in Mexico before you leave. There is no point in following them now. They're too far in front of you. Who knows where they're headed. You're needed at the ranch. Go home."

Alfred helped Murdoch up. He took his friend back to his house on California Hill where his wife managed to persuade Murdoch to eat. Alfred gave Murdoch pen and paper. Together they wrote their letters and Alfred arranged for the speediest possible delivery.

The next morning Murdoch visited the bank to replace the money taken, and then bid farewell to the Burkes. Once again he began a long, slow journey back to Lancer debilitated by grief, remorse and anger. Leaving Boston he had felt robbed and hopeless. Now leaving San Francisco he felt all that and more. As he rode through the Lancer arch, Murdoch felt utterly and irreparably alone.

**Notes:**

1. Angel O'Brien features in _Angel Day and Her Sunshine Girls_, Series 1, Episode 19.

2. Joe Barker features in _The Lawman_, Series 1, Episode 5. He and Murdoch are said to have known each other 20 years before and the way Murdoch talks to Joe in 1870 implies he knew Maria. It was, therefore, essential to bring him in early enough for that. It was impractical, however, to cover other canon information about Murdoch's relationship with Joe Barker at the same time. Hence Joe Barker will reappear at a later date.

3. Jud Haney features in _Yesterday's Vendetta_, Series 1, Episode 16.

4. Cleve Harper of San José is mentioned in _Glory_, Series 1, Episode 10.

_5. The Homecoming_ (Pilot)/_The Highriders_, Series 1, Episode 1 provides the canon information about Maria leaving Murdoch. In them, if taken literally, Maria leaves about two years after their marriage, but that did not make sense in relation to other aspects of canon. Murdoch goes to get Scott when his son is five years old as per _Legacy_, Series 2, Episode 10. Logically Murdoch went for him when he had a stable home life not after just after losing his wife and other son. The age difference between Scott and Johnny appears fairly consistently to be about three years. Ultimately I chose to treat the 'two year' comment flexibly, first making it two years after Johnny's birth rather than his conception, and then because I'd opted to stick with the actors actual birth dates and have the two boys birthdays both in December, it was convenient to make that 'two years' a rather vague timeframe. Certain situations and feelings needed time to develop in order to make sense to me. Consequently in this story Johnny is about two and a half when he and his mother leave. I consider this to be stretching rather than breaking with canon, and hopefully doing so will not upset anyone unduly.


	33. From H toH Chap33 Gone But Not Forgotten

**From Highlands to Homecoming **by Margaret P.

_(With thanks to betas, Anna Orr and Terri Derr)_

**Chapter 33: Gone but Not Forgotten** (Words: 2,984)

Bleak—that was the only word to describe the month that followed for Murdoch. Not even the birth of Cip and Maria's second child could bring the joy to his countenance that the little boy and his parents deserved.

The infant was named after his maternal grandfather and father, but it was clear from the outset that Juan Cipriano Ramirez Hernandez was to be the favourite of his grandmothers. Estella and Anita competed for control and time with the baby, until Maria recovered from her lying in and laid down the law. "Silencio! If you do not learn to share, neither of you will see my son—mi hijo! And what of Catarina—have you forgotten you have a granddaughter? No seas niños!"

Maria's minor explosion in the kitchen of the hacienda brought them to their senses and brought the only small smile to Murdoch's lips that anyone had seen in weeks. The slip of a girl, who had once blushed when caught admiring her new mistress's clothes, was calling the tune. She was now as feisty as Catherine herself. Estella and Anita had ruled the roost amongst the women on the estate for as long as Murdoch could remember. He was witnessing the beginning of a new order, and he could not help but be amused.

Murdoch made a real effort to congratulate his foreman when Paul announced soon after that Angel was expecting, but Murdoch feared his enthusiasm did not reach his eyes. God forgive him, but he was jealous of Paul's happiness.

Letters started arriving within a week or two of his return to the ranch, but most were just acknowledgements, only a couple contained any useful information. Murdoch's contacts promised to make enquiries and expressed regret over the circumstances. Señor Acosta, the lawyer in Matamoros, was among the later replies. Maria had not returned there, but he would write if he saw her. Don Contanado promised to write diplomatically to his network of friends throughout Mexico and the border territories. He undertook to make personal enquiries closer to home. Towns like Nogales seemed probable destinations for a gambler. An early note from Alfred confirmed that Maria, Johnny and Cole had disembarked at San Diego. One of Burke's contacts had spoken with the port watchman. For a few pesos the watchman recalled that a couple with a child had left the _Mercury _and taken lodgings at a nearby taberna. The proprietor of the taberna referred him to a livery.

_The livery owner sold a buckboard and horses to a man answering Cole's description. He asked about the road going south into Mexico, but he did not say exactly where he was headed. The man remembered the details of the transaction mainly because 'el ingl_é_s' did not pay with gold, but with a gemstone. He showed it to my friend. From his description it is an aquamarine from the necklace you told me was stolen. The livery owner intends to get it made into a brooch for his wife, but my friend could try to buy it back for you if you would like?_

There was no point. Clearly Thurstan Cole had decided the necklace Harlan had given Catherine for her twenty-first birthday was too recognisable or bulky to carry with him long term, perhaps too valuable whole to be of practical use. The gambler was breaking the necklace up. The gold in it alone would keep them in comfort for a month or two, if he did not gamble it away. To recover just a part would not have the same sentimental value, and there was no guarantee the livery owner would sell.

Murdoch half wondered why with Maria's love of finery she had not held onto the necklace longer. Then he remembered that to Maria, Catherine was a ghost that haunted her marriage. She likely wanted rid of the jewellery as soon as possible. She may have only taken it at Cole's insistence. If she had happened to mention its existence, Murdoch could well believe a man like Cole would see the advantage of obtaining it, especially if Maria had no desire to keep it. Yes, that made more sense. He had been surprised to find the jewellery gone. The taking of it had seemed spiteful somehow. Maria was many things, but spiteful was not one of them. Cole had forced her to take the jewellery, Murdoch was sure of it. She would have taken it only to please him. She would not want to wear it, so the gambler would be free to sell it on—the bastard. He will have a harder job getting her to part with her own jewellery, Murdoch thought with irrational satisfaction.

He had already made up his mind to head south as soon as things at the ranch slowed down. It would be better if he had some idea where to look, but regardless he would go. He would leave Paul in charge once again and search the borderlands between Mexico and America until he found his family. He was hurt and angry with Maria, but he still loved her. Being made a cuckold strangely saddened more than angered him. Deep down he acknowledged he was partly to blame, but he was not sure how he would ever forgive her for taking away his son. The desperation he felt at the thought of losing Johnny was more than he could bear, so he tried very hard not to think about it as a real possibility. For Johnny's sake he would try to forgive—when he found them. There was no question that he would find them.

Late August, there was good news of sorts. Jud Haney was captured. He had been cornered up in the hills for so long now that most of the ranchers in the valley had almost forgotten him, but not Murdoch. He was more than pleased to know Haney was permanently out of the equation. Haney would now receive the punishment he deserved—a hanging with any luck. Leaving Lancer through the winter would be that much easier knowing the threat of a rustling revival was reduced.

"Took longer than expected, but we got him. Half-starved—still put up a fight though. My men have taken him to Sacramento, but I thought I'd come and tell you, and say goodbye. I'm heading east awhile." Joe Barker leaned forward in his saddle and patted his horse. "Maisie here will take me back to Sacramento to collect my wages and give my report, and then we're off over the Sierra Nevada to sort a little personal business."

"You'll be missed." Murdoch reached up and shook Barker's hand. They had become quite friendly over the months the lawman had been pursuing Jud Haney. With Paul now at home with his wife every evening, Barker had helped fill the void of sympathetic listener. During the long, lonely evenings since Maria left, Murdoch would nurse a glass of scotch and dwell on his anger, his hurt and his guilt. On the evenings when Barker could join him for a meal his misery at least took a more practical bent. With his greater knowledge of the territories east of California, Barker had given Murdoch some useful advice about where to look for the runaways and what questions to ask.

The other person Murdoch talked to was Sarah Johnson. He had a lot of time for Sarah. Patient, practical and wise, she had been friend to both Catherine and Maria. By her own account she had never been as close to Maria as she had been to Catherine. Maria had not confided in her about Thurstan Cole for example. Sarah had suspected a preference, which she had tried to discourage, but she was genuinely shocked when Maria ran off with him. Murdoch did not blame Sarah for failing to warn him. He understood that like Paul, she and Daniel had been afraid to draw attention to smoke where there may have been no fire. He credited her with understanding his situation better than most however, and consequently he sought her out whenever he felt a need to talk.

"I should have done more to help her settle at Lancer, but I just assumed because she was Mexican and spoke Spanish, she would get on with everyone at the ranch—and with the Californio families. I was wrong." Murdoch twisted his hat around in his hands as he leaned forward in his chair.

"You were."

"You're supposed to say it wasn't my fault."

"Am I? It wasn't your fault." Sarah placed the tea things down on her kitchen table and began to pour out.

"But you don't believe that. You think it was my fault—all of it?"

"No, just some of it. You had the ranch to run. You had commitments. Maria knew that, but she was who she was. Maria needed to be the centre of your world and you simply could not give that to her all the time. It was no one's fault really." Sarah handed Murdoch a cup of tea and settled back to drink her own. "Hmm, tea. It was something I missed when I first came here from Rhode Island, a good cup of tea. It was all strong coffee and lukewarm water."

"Catherine settled in all right. I thought she would find it harder what with the language and different customs, but everyone accepted her."

"Well, not everyone. And maybe those differences were easier to recognise and overcome than the social ones. Catherine was on the same rung of society as the likes of Doña Mercedes. She was educated and knew how to behave among them. Even if she didn't know Spanish, she knew how to speak their language in other ways. She was used to being the lady of the house with servants and comparative wealth. I'm no expert, but I suspect it's easier to be gracious from a great height than to step up and truly belong. Maria came from the same class as her new servants; she perhaps tried too hard to exert her authority and they resented it. They expected it from Catherine and accepted it as natural. When she wanted to be amongst them they were flattered. Whereas Maria, they initially saw as someone who had tricked you into marriage, who then tried to laud it over them and supplant the memory of the Señora Lancer they all loved. In hindsight, it is not so hard to understand. It was better after Johnny was born; everyone mellowed."

"It got worse in Green River. I don't know what I could have done, but I should have done something."

"Now you are being too hard on yourself. You did not cause the gold rush and the great increase in the white population. If Green River and the other towns had remained small with larger Mexican than white populations, the good ladies of Green River would have been more inclined to hold their tongues as all good minorities do. I would guess that the term 'greaser' is seldom heard in the heart of Mexico, but people may not say 'el gringo' with the degree of friendliness that would make me feel comfortable. "

"You are a cynic, Sarah." Murdoch chuckled. He was not happy, but Sarah's matter-of-factness disarmed him.

"I have learned to be philosophical about people. I choose to be practical and to set achievable goals for myself and my family. You cannot spend your life wallowing in past misery and mistakes, Murdoch. A lot of people depend upon you and Lancer for their livelihood. You must balance your needs and theirs. Learn from the past and decide what you want from the future. Set yourself some achievable goals."

They finished their tea and Murdoch escorted Sarah to Johnson's Emporium. Having left little Catherine playing at a friend's house, Sarah had returned home to do some housework while she did not have the child underfoot. She had been about to leave there to do some bookkeeping at the shop when Murdoch surprised her in obvious need of someone to talk to. They had sat over their cups of tea for nearly an hour, but there was still time to do a little work on the ledgers before collecting her daughter.

They were walking along the boardwalk when Sarah was greeted by a middle-aged couple and their grown daughter exiting the bank.

"Oh Mrs Johnson, I declare you're just the person I wanted to see. I must thank you so kindly for putting us in touch with Mr Simms. He fixed the problem in a jiffy, and we have quite settled in."

"Glad to be of help. Murdoch, you won't have met Mr and Mrs Herbert Adams and their daughter, Marcy. They only arrived last month. Mr Adams is the new manager-clerk at the stagecoach office."

Murdoch shook hands with Adams and tipped his hat to the ladies before moving on. Marcy Adams, an attractive young woman in her early twenties, met his eyes in a deliberately shy kind of way aimed to catch his attention—which it did. Sarah was halfway through warning him to beware when Mrs Adams called out to them. "Yoo-hoo, Mrs Johnson, Mr Lancer! I do declare I am a thoughtless woman. Mr Lancer, Mr and Mrs Johnson are coming to dinner with us on Thursday evening. Might I persuade you to join us too? We are so eager to meet all our new neighbours."

"Especially the potentially eligible or influential ones," Sarah observed as soon as the lady was out of ear shot. "That woman has invited every young man or businessman of any worth to dine. She will have us all obligated to her husband in some way, or set up as suitors for her daughter. She takes it hard that Marcy is not already well-married at the advanced age of twenty-four."

"Well, I hope she is seeing me amongst the influential rather than the potentially eligible. I take it she does know I'm married?"

"Believe me she knows, but she also knows your wife is gone and you own the biggest ranch around here. My guess is she is keeping her options open, and from that point of view Murdoch—don't take this the wrong way—you should too. Maria has found someone else. No one will blame you if you do too." Murdoch glowered and Sarah held up her hand in surrender. "Peace—I'll say no more. As for Gertrude Adams, she has her eyes on other potential husbands as well, Joe Anderson's eldest and that young assistant bank manager, Charlie Dane. You need not be too concerned, if you are not interested."

Murdoch was not interested when he left Sarah at the entrance of the emporium, but he was less sure after being plied with beef burgundy and lemon pie on Thursday evening. Marcy Adams was very attentive to his needs and seemed a pleasant kind of girl when separated from her Southern-belle mother. Her quiet, submissive nature seemed to soothe his weary spirit, allowing him respite from the reflection and speculation that possessed him whenever he had no ranch business to focus on.

Not even the charms of Miss Adams could divert Murdoch from his immediate goal however. Mid-October Murdoch started preparing for his search for Maria and Johnny. When he mentioned his plans to O'Brien though, the response was not as expected.

"Ah, I've been meaning to talk to you, Boss. I'm leaving Lancer."

"What? Why, Paul, I thought you liked it here?"

"I do, but Angel doesn't. She's lonely and bored. She wants to be in town, a big town. She'd prefer San Francisco, but I couldn't cope with all them people. Do you know they say there are over 30,000 people living there now?" Paul looked horrified. He was a country boy through and through. He could roam wilderness without a care, but the very idea of walking down a street with more than a dozen people on it brought him out in a cold sweat. "We've agreed to compromise. We'll go to Sacramento. I'll get a job on the outskirts and she can have her shops and theatres and all the socialising she says she needs to keep her happy."

Paul did not look too keen, but Murdoch knew he would move heaven and earth for Angel. Damn woman. She was too much like Maria with her love of pretty clothes and excitement; and a lot more frivolous and immature, though she knew how to manipulate men well enough. Angel knew she was marrying a cattleman. It was unfair of her to make Paul give up the life he loved to suit her whims. Still, Murdoch could understand why Paul was willing to do it. Witnessing the situation between Murdoch and Maria would not encourage a man to stand his ground. Perhaps Paul feared Angel would take the same path as Maria if he did not make the compromise. Pfft—what compromise! It seemed to Murdoch that Angel was getting everything she wanted. Paul was the only one making concessions. Well, he needed a concession from her and even if Paul would not pursue one for himself, Murdoch was hopeful he would ask her to make one for Murdoch's sake. "I need you here, Paul. At least until I get back. I must go, and there's no one else I can trust. Please talk to Angel. She's due in January. She likes Doctor Owens. Please ask her if you can stay until after your baby is born, for your own sakes as well as mine."

Angel agreed to wait until the end of February, but no longer. It was enough, and both men were relieved. Now limited for time Murdoch hastened to make arrangements, and by the end of October he was riding southward along the Central Valley towards San Diego.

**Notes:**

1. Juan Contanado of Sonora is mentioned in _Devil's Blessing_, Series 1, Episode 26.

2. Jud Haney features in _Yesterday's Vendetta_, Series 1, Episode 16.

3. Joe Barker features in _The Lawman_, Series 1, Episode 4.

4. Paul O'Brien features in _The _Homecoming / The Highriders, Pilot/Series 1, Episode 1 and is mentioned in _Yesterday's Vendetta_, Series 1, Episode 16 and _Angel Day and her Sunshine Girls_, Series 1, Episode 19

5. Angel O'Brien (Day) features in _Angel Day and her Sunshine Girls_, Series 1, Episode 19


End file.
